


Bundle of Trouble

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Baby Fic, Background Relationships, F/M, M/M, Prompt Fic, Single dad Athos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 80,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6437269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musketeers AU set in modern day Paris. After the humiliation of an acrimonious and very public  divorce, Athos spirals into a decline, getting drunk and sleeping with every available body. Determined to do better, he makes friends with his neighbour and exchanges his vices for a new healthy lifestyle. All is going well until one of his lovers turns up on the doorstep with a bundle of something that is less joyful and rather more chaotic, turning his life upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChicotFP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChicotFP/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to FromPella for the beautiful artwork and prompt. <3

  


* * *

“You have nothing to prove,” muttered Athos as he confronted the ghost like reflection that was staring back at him from the bathroom mirror. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

Stepping cautiously under the shower head, he winced as a thousand icy needles rained down on him. However dreadful this water torture was, it remained the only thing that could revive him after a night’s heavy drinking, and the rest. 

A sudden banging on the bathroom door made his head pound from hangover.

“Athos darling, hurry up, will you? I need to get back before my husband notices I’m missing.”

Athos closed his eyes and tried desperately to remember whom he’d slept with last night, but it was no good. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and peered out at his latest conquest who was sylph-like with blue eyes and a bedhead cloud of blonde hair. Not his usual green eyed brunette. Instead of a carbon copy of his ex-wife he’d picked Marie, one of her oldest friends, to fuck.

“Thanks sweetie,” she said pushing past him to get to the shower and in minutes she was gone, back to her businessman husband and society life style.

Still clad in a towel, Athos sat at the kitchen table, drinking a mug of super strength coffee and wondering where it had all gone wrong.

Five years ago he’d been married to the most incredible woman and had spent his life jet setting around the world, coasting on her success. But then Anne’s glittering eyes had settled upon a new prize and, hungry for power, she’d left him for dead, moving up the ladder to Armand Richelieu, a man certain to be the future president of France. Their divorce had been short and bitter. Even with a first class law degree from the Sorbonne, Athos had been unable to defeat Richelieu's army of solicitors, and so he crawled away with nothing but the remains of a small trust fund from his grandparents and an old apartment building in Paris, whose tenants were discreetly managed by a letting agency. Anne taken all the rest, including his family home in Piñon. Damn her to Hell.

Instead of pulling himself together and embarking upon a new life as a lawyer, Athos had moved into a vacant ground floor flat in that run down building on Rue Ferou then started a career as a heavy drinker and sex addict. It was a life choice he was profoundly unhappy with, but what else could he do? He had to show Anne--Milady as she now styled herself--how little she mattered to him. Not that she’d even notice him nowadays from her lofty position in the penthouse apartment of the Palais Royale Heights.

Every morning Athos would wake with another hangover and a renewed determination to do better, but by the time evening rolled around he’d be back in the clubs, snorting cocaine in the men’s room and finding someone new to pull.

Crisis time hit a few months later when the voice asking him to hurry up in the bathroom was an octave lower than normal. 

“Thanks, honey,” said his latest one night stand. 

Athos neatly avoided the kiss goodbye. 

“Fancy doing this again sometime?” asked the guy who was handsome in a sweet kind of a way, and far too young for Athos. Also far too male.

Athos chewed at his lower lip. “I don’t,” he muttered. “The thing is I’m not gay.”

The kid laughed at him. “You were last night,” he grinned. “Very gay and up for everything.” He leant in to snatch a kiss and then picked up a pen from the table, scrawling his number on Athos’ arm. “When you finally remember how much fun we had then give me a call.” He kissed him on both cheeks. “I’m d’Artagnan and, believe me, it was a pleasure.”

“Bye,” said Athos, shuffling from one bare foot to the other, wondering how he had got himself into such a mess. This must be what a sudden impact with rock bottom felt like.

In a desperate attempt to sort himself out and regain some much needed control, Athos spent the next few weeks avoiding alcohol, drugs and nameless faceless sex, instead setting out on a vigorous regime of exercise and healthy living.

“Hello there, neighbour. I was beginning to think you were a vampire,” said the guy from the next door flat as they passed each other on the stone steps of the building, both wearing sweatpants, vests and running shoes. “I’m Porthos.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Athos, racing back to his apartment. He wasn’t yet ready for any form of human interaction, however friendly the big man had seemed.

A fortnight later he was able to look in the mirror and not only recognise himself, but be proud of the reflected image. Even concealed by a scruffy mess of auburn beard, he could see that the skin beneath was ruddy with good health. His eyes were no longer threaded with angry red lines and that inch thick layer of vodka flab was gone. The road to recovery would be a long one, but at least he’d set out on the journey.

Spring was steadily giving way to Summer, and breathing in lungfuls of fresh morning air, he re-tied his shoelaces on the steps, readying himself for the first run of the day.

“Bonjour,” said a deep voice. “You’re looking good.”

Athos stood up straight and viewed Porthos properly for the first time, on a par with him height-wise now that he was on the top step. The guy was a giant. He should play basketball for a living. “I’m feeling good,” he admitted, his mouth tipping into a smile, the first sober one in ages. 

“Do I get to find out your name today?” asked Porthos.

“Athos,” said Athos with a quick nod. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“We make a right pair with those daft monikers,” chuckled Porthos as he jogged past him into the building.

Setting out on his run, Athos was hit by a warm rush of contentment. This was a brand new beginning. He was happy and healthy with a positive outlook and even the potential of a new friend. At very least he’d proved that he could talk to someone without the need of alcohol as a social prop. Yes, today was an excellent day indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

As those good times continued to rack up, Athos could sense the top of the mountain getting closer and closer. Maybe soon he’d be ready for suits and job interviews. It was frightening how easily he’d let himself be led around by Anne, and how very far he’d fallen when she dropped him. After graduating, he’d done eighteen months of pupillage at one of the top firms in the city, but then she had proposed and he’d said yes and, from that moment on, her career was the only thing that mattered.

Today was the first Sunday in June--not that days of the week meant much to him at present--and he was currently sprawled out across the sofa, freshly showered after a long run and utterly relaxed as he scanned the papers. The sun was pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, spreading a blanket of warmth throughout the small apartment. He’d made a particularly good cup of coffee and was now busy scrutinising the Jobs Vacant sections when he was disturbed by an insistent chiming of the doorbell.

Confused, Athos put down his newspaper and stood up. No one ever visited here. He had no family and had abandoned his few true friends as soon as he’d got married, too ashamed to get in contact with them again once things had gone wrong.

The flat was very traditional and had no modern conveniences such as entry phones or even the benefit of a spy hole to peer through and so, rather tentatively, he opened the front door, hoping that perhaps it was Porthos wanting to do some extra training on such a nice day.

Instead he was surprised to find Marie Michon standing at the threshold, a supercilious expression on her face. Beside her was a pushchair laden with bags, and in addition to this she was carrying a small, swaddled bundle.

“He’s yours, Athos,” she said, thrusting the blanketed object into Athos’ arms. “He’s your son Raoul. You have to look after him. Your name is on the birth certificate.”

Athos stared down at the tiny child, whose eyes were screwed up, his fists balled as if ready for a fight. “Marie, don’t be ridiculous,” he said, panic setting in as the baby began to grizzle with annoyance. “If he’s mine, of course I’ll help support him and look after him, but you can't just leave him with me. I know nothing about children.”

“He’s yours. Just look at him,” said Marie. “Duke guessed who his father was as soon as he was born.”

Duke Michon was an American businessman and former pro footballer who’d come to Paris to invest in the European market and get rich off the back of it. He was tall, single minded, handsome and powerful. More relevantly he was black.

“I was hoping that Raoul would be his,” said Marie, staring at Athos with a frosty gaze as if she blamed him for everything wrong in the world. “We’d been trying.”

The baby stopped whinging and opened a pair of big green eyes. He had pale skin and a crop of reddish brown hair. He was certainly not of African American heritage and neither had he inherited his mother’s ice queen looks.

“Duke’s furious,” continued Marie. “He says it’s either him or Raoul.”

“And you picked him?” said Athos incredulously. “You’d choose that ruthless bastard over your own child?”

“Don’t judge me,” snapped Marie, edging away from father and son. “Without Duke I have nothing. Either you look after the baby, or I’ll take him to an adoption agency.”

Adoption would be a far better thing, thought Athos, but then he looked down at this little scrap, the only person who had ever truly needed him, and fell in love. “He’s beautiful,” he said in wonder.

“Duke’s waiting for me in the limousine.”

Taking advantage of the moment of weakness, Marie escaped without a single backward glance, leaving Athos standing on the doorstep of his flat, a baby in his arms and no clue what to do for the best. If only he had a mother to call upon, but even if his had been alive she would have just tutted and hired a nanny to assist. She bore much in common with Marie Michon and would gladly have thrust Athos into anyone’s arms as long as she didn’t have to care for him.

Wheeling the pushchair inside the flat, struggling to guide it one handed, Athos then removed the bags full of disposable nappies and bottles and placed Raoul carefully into the seat. Hands shaking from nerves, he fastened the harness and then stared down at the child, wondering what to do next. A series of whimpering sounds of distress made him tumble into despair and frantically he pushed the buggy to and fro, calming a little when the baby fell silent and dozed off.

“What the fuck do I do?” he muttered, opting to go through all Raoul’s belongings before running off to the internet for help. He was an old fashioned man at heart who preferred to be guided by books rather than unproven online garbage that could have been written by any moron.

Inside the changing bag was a red bound folder which contained Raoul’s birth certificate and a small amount of information from the hospital. In addition to this, Marie had left him a few hastily scribbled notes on how to sterilise bottles and make up the feeds. She’d also written out an idiot’s guide on how to change Raoul’s nappy and soothe him when he was unhappy.

“She did love you,” said Athos to the sleeping baby. “How could she not love you.”

With the steriliser set up in the kitchen, Athos put the pre-made bottles in the refrigerator and then returned to the living room, staring once again at his son and praying that he’d stay asleep, preferably until he was eighteen and ready to leave home for university.

Relieved that there was no alcohol in the flat to fall back on, Athos sat down heavily on one of the rigid backed chairs and opened his laptop. He’d have to buy a ton of stuff -- a cot, clothes, toys perhaps. Did new babies need toys? The birth certificate said that Raoul was almost three weeks old. What was the legal situation surrounding this? He was no expert in family law. He might be named as the child's father, but would the state accept that he should be the one to care for him without any experience whatsoever? Then again no new parent, male or female, adoptive or birth, ever had a clue about taking care of a baby when they first acquired one and so he was not unusual in that respect, even if fatherhood had been thrust upon him unexpectedly. If he registered Raoul at the health center tomorrow then at least he could get at least some advice from the experts. 

As soon as the baby started to wriggle around in discomfort, Athos sped read through some of Marie’s instructions on how to take care of him. Always change his nappy as soon as it’s wet or dirty. Heat up the milk to body temperature using hot water rather than a microwave. Don’t let him guzzle his feed. Change him again before putting him down for a nap. 

Raoul was crying properly now and so Athos unstrapped him from the buggy then picked him up, amazed at how very small he was. 

“You’ll have to forgive me, little boy,” he said as he carried him through to the kitchen, taking a bottle from the refrigerator and warming it in a jug of water from the kettle. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Laying a towel out on the rug, he then placed the baby on it as if he were made of china and, armed with a changing bag, knelt next to him, gazing down at that angry face.

“I suppose we have to go for this,” he muttered, unsnapping the poppers of the babygro and vest that were distinctly damp around the nether regions. “Oh god.”

Even though the nappy was just a wet one, the combined smell of piss and cream turned Athos’ stomach. Opening a box of wet wipes, he cleaned Raoul as best he could manage with the baby squirming and yelling at him. If that had seemed hard, the next part of the task was Herculean, as Athos placed the clean disposable underneath that little body and tried to figure it how it must work. The first attempt was a disaster, too loose and clearly back to front, and as he pulled at the tapes in an attempt to re-position it, he ripped open the plastic. He’d also forgotten to smear that disgusting scented cream all over the baby’s bum.

“Fucking hell, I can’t do this,” he whimpered and for a moment Raoul stopped crying and stared at him with a stern look on those little features. Despite everything Athos burst out laughing. “There’s no denying you’re mine,” he said, fighting back his own tears. “We’re tough guys; we can get through this together.”

Taking things slowly, he used logic to fit the next nappy into position, and once the child was smothered in barrier cream he then closed the tapes.

“Bugger it,” he muttered. The slimy stuff had gone everywhere making this attempt as useless as the last. Wiping his hands on a corner of the towel he went for a third and was finally successful. The end result was a little loose, but was holding in place. “Now we just have to find you some clothes,” he said, rummaging in a small denim holdall.

Dressing the baby didn’t take too long. Athos however was trembling by the time he’d finished, certain that he would snap that tiny neck or twist one of his limbs as he tried to ease him into the vest and sleepsuit. Raoul didn’t help matters, being hungry and fractious, and so, by the end of it, both de la Fère men were stressed out and grumpy.

Cautiously Athos picked up the baby, leaving the dirty clothes, nappy and towel to be dealt with later. “Now I have to try and get some food into you and then we start this all over again,” he muttered, remembering every terrifying stage of the notes.

As far as Athos could tell, the milk appeared to be close to blood heat and so, after tucking Raoul into the crook of his arm, he presented the teat to the boy’s mouth. Raoul snatched at it, sucking furiously and gasping for air as he took the milk like a pro. Athos looked down at him, filled with a sense of pride. The little one was a fighter and, so far, he was managing to nurture him well enough. There was a slim chance that they could do this.

An hour later things were not so positive. Raoul had been screaming at Athos for the last twenty minutes and nothing he could do would settle him. His nappy was still clean and dry and he couldn’t possibly need more food, so why was he so unhappy?

Holding the child against his shoulder Athos paced the apartment, praying to every available god in the pantheon that one of them would take pity on him and make this stop. There was, however, no mercy offered and so Athos put the child in his pushchair in order to try and rock him to sleep, but nothing worked. Finally he picked him up again, holding him against his chest and pleading with him to stop this assault. There was a loud belch, followed by another and then a rumbling sound from lower down. The baby trembled with relief and then sagged against Athos and all was quiet and still.

“Is that better now?” murmured Athos. “Did Daddy let you drink your milk too quickly,” he said cuddling Raoul and kissing the side of his head. “You smell really bad, little boy.”

Raoul burped again in reply then strained his body and once again there were the distinctive sounds as he filled his nappy.

Change time was less happy than the last. The shit had exploded out of the elastic sides and was running down his thigh, and with no idea how to get him clean, Athos filled the washing up bowl with hand hot water, carried it through to the living room and dunked the baby in it, supporting him as best he could with shaking hands. 

“Mama will come back for you,” he said as he rinsed the boy clean and used baby wipes to do the rest. “She has to come back soon.”

With Raoul now wrapped up in the third towel of the day Athos took a deep breath and sourced some more clothes for him to sleep in. It was now seven p.m. He’d had nothing to eat all day, surviving on coffee and biscotti, and he was a mental and physical wreck. 

Apparently Raoul was equally exhausted and once he was warm and dry, with a nappy fastened more tightly around his waist and a tiny pair of pyjamas covering his diminutive body, he fell asleep sucking contentedly at his fist.

“Daddy’ll get better at this,” crooned Athos as he fastened him into his pushchair and tucked the blanket around him. “I promise.”

Making himself a couple of slices of toast, he settled on the sofa with his laptop. Being a lover of the law he was good at research and soon had a long list of things to order from Amazon. Thank God for a healthy savings account and the income from the rent.


	3. Chapter 3

The demands from both ends of Raoul’s body came at regular intervals, twenty four seven, and even when his son was taking a few hours time out in the Land of Nod, Athos was too frantic to sleep. Using it as some form of therapy, he meticulously searched the evil internet, ordering mountains of equipment in hope that it would make their lives easier. With close to three thousand euros spent in a few hours, he realised what a waste of money this would turn out to be when Marie came back to reclaim her baby, but at least in the short term Raoul would have a bed to sleep in, his own miniature bath and enough clothes to get him through the eight changes he seemed to need a day. 

The mum forums turned out to be an endless source of help on how to care for newborns, telling Athos all about clinics and immunisations and developmental checks. The information was useful, but at the same time daunting, and falling asleep on the couch he then awoke in a panic, wracked by nightmares that something dreadful had happened to Raoul whilst he was unconscious. He was so relieved to find the baby snoozing in the pushchair that he cried, something he hadn’t even done when Anne had left him. He’d begged his wife not to abandon him, but had never resorted to tears.

After breakfast--his own meal being a chocolate bar and a coffee--Athos got Raoul dressed and polished then strapped him into his buggy ready to go to the nearby health center.

There was a queue a mile long at the reception desk and by the time they reached the front, Raoul was grizzling with anger, ready for one end or the other to be seen to.

“I’m looking after my son and I need to register him here at the surgery,” he said to the girl who stared up at him, her vacant eyes magnified by the thick rimmed glasses she was wearing.

“If it’s just a temporary situation then you don’t need to bother,” she intoned. “Does he need an appointment now?”

The baby began to wail.

“No,” said Athos, “but it’s not temporary as such. He’ll need his immunisations and I also have to make sure he’s gaining weight.”

“Fill this in,” said the receptionist shoving a form at him. 

The words swam before Athos’ exhausted eyes and biting his lip, he realised that he’d forgotten to bring that little red book with him so he had no idea of what details to write. “I’ll do it later,” he muttered, shoving the form into a changing bag and wheeling the pushchair out of the health centre, sensing relief, from everyone inside, that the source of the noise was gone.

“You could try to help,” said Athos, almost home as he stopped to tuck the blanket around Raoul. “I’m doing this for you.”

The little boy fell silent when Athos addressed him sternly, looking up with huge eyes and a solemn expression on his heart shaped face.

“I’m sure you are sorry,” said Athos, stroking his cheek. “But that doesn’t improve the situation. We’re stuck with each other for now so let’s try to make the most of it, eh.”

“Morning, neighbour,” said a gruff voice that by now was becoming familiar. “What have you got here?” Porthos leant over the pushchair and peered inside. “So that’s what all the caterwauling was last night. You babysitting?”

“You could say that,” replied Athos with a weary twist of his lips.

“Boy or girl?” asked Porthos.

“A boy,” said Athos. “He’s called Raoul.”

“He’s a proper cutie,” said Porthos, looking curiously at Athos and then back at the baby. “My foster mum always had a ton of babies to look after. I miss having a houseful of squealers. Give me a shout if you need any help with him.”

Once again Athos was worryingly close to tears. “I will,” he said, his voice sounding all choked up to his ears. “Thanks, Porthos. I’d better get him inside before he starts creating merry hell again.”

“Little ones are good at that,” said Porthos with a grin. “Remember what I said and take care. D’you need a hand up the steps with the buggy?”

“No thanks. We’re okay.” Athos managed a watery smile. “I suppose I have to get used to this.”

Safely back home, he unstrapped Raoul from his pushchair and took off his outdoor clothes. A morning of sunshine had warmed the flat up nicely and he knew from his foray into the forums that letting baby get too hot was a dangerous thing. 

“Hey, little man. How are we doing?” Raoul sucked at his fist, lying contented in his daddy’s arms for once, and Athos made the most of it, studying his son and enjoying the feel of him, all warm and soft, snuggled against him. “You may well be hard work, but you are lovely,” he said with a jolt of unexpected happiness.

The peaceful moment was short lived and soon Athos was back to that regular routine, going from one end of Raoul to the other, topping up the tank then cleaning the resulting mess and, in between, putting on loads of washing and making a dozen bottles of formula. 

By half past three in the morning, without a wink of sleep, Athos had well and truly made up his mind to follow in the family tradition and employ a nanny, the only problem being that he couldn’t actually afford one. The mountain peak, that just two days ago had seemed close enough to touch, was rapidly disappearing from view. If only he could grab a couple of hours’ kip then things might not seem so bad, but the weight of responsibility was too much, and even when he had the opportunity to get some rest he couldn’t seem to switch off.

Over the course of the next few days deliveries started arriving, and soon Athos’ spare room was filled with piles of baby things, hundreds of packages of clothes and boxes of nappies in all sizes. There was now a crib set up in his bedroom so that Raoul no longer had to spend all his time in the buggy. The bathroom was stacked, floor to ceiling, with infant products, and in the midst of all this chaos was an exhausted father and his permanently irritable son.

The crunch came when the next lot of delivery drivers arrived with several huge boxes containing flatpack furniture then dumped them in the hallway of the building and ran for the hills.

“Thanks for nothing,” yelled Athos as he slammed the front door with a loud bang. Startled by the noise, Raoul flailed and cried out in complaint. “Shut up,” said Athos, offering him a knuckle to suck. “How am I supposed to do this if you won’t ever let me put you down anywhere when you’re awake?”

Gazing helplessly at the myriad boxes surrounding him, Athos steeled himself and knocked on Porthos’ door. He hated asking anyone for help, especially someone he hardly knew, but right now it seemed he had no choice in the matter.

The big man opened up, grinning happily at the sight of Athos and Raoul. “Hello, my gorgeous little man,” he said, taking the baby from Athos and cradling him in the crook of his arm. “How are you today?”

“Shattered and miserable,” said Athos. “And the baby’s not much better off than I am.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I don’t suppose you could lend us a hand.”

The ‘us’ seemed to come as second nature already.

“Of course,” said Porthos, chucking Raoul under the chin. “I’m at your disposal. What can I do you for? I’m well practiced in all forms of baby maintenance.”

“Actually, I need you to help me carry all this,” said Athos, pointing to the nearby stack of boxes. “The bloody delivery men left all Raoul’s furniture in the hallway and then buggered off.”

“No problem.” Porthos beamed at him. “Let’s get the little guy into his buggy and then you and me can do DIY for the rest of the day.”

“Really?” said Athos hopefully. He hadn’t dared ask that much of Porthos, but he was famous for being as useless as a chocolate teapot when it came to practical matters and, functioning without sleep or food, he knew that his abilities would be of a far lower standard than usual.

“Really,” said Porthos, grabbing the keys to his flat. “I’m all yours, partner.”

With the pushchair tipped up so that he could see a little of what was going on, Raoul settled down quite happily for once and the two men were able to carry in the boxes and begin work without interruption.

“I’m guessing you’re not just babysitting,” said Porthos as they shifted piles of baby related items into Athos’ room in order to make way for the construction of the furniture.

“True,” said Athos.

“And there’s no Mrs Athos?” Porthos unpacked all the parts of the wardrobe and began laying pieces out on the floor.

“I had a wife but she divorced me a long time ago,” said Athos. “She’s not Raoul’s mother.”

“And who is?” asked Porthos, his eyes widening with curiosity.

“A friend of hers. A one night stand,” admitted Athos. “A married one night stand.”

“Your life sounds like a proper soap opera,” said Porthos in amazement. 

“It gets worse,” confessed Athos. “Marie’s husband is black.”

Porthos spluttered with laughter. “I’m sorry, bro, but seriously?”

“I know,” sighed Athos. “Bit of a mess.” He checked his watch when Raoul complained loudly from the living room. “He’s probably hungry.”

“You go see to your boy and I’ll get on with this,” suggested Porthos and then he grinned. “I’ll cry if I need you.”

For the rest of the day Raoul decided to be as much of a pain as usual, determined that if Athos wasn’t changing or feeding him then he’d be carrying him around everywhere he went. Luckily, Porthos was a genius when it came to DIY and, other than the few times Athos was needed to hold planks of wood, he managed the entire construction project by himself. 

“You’re amazing,” said Athos gratefully as Porthos finished making up the cot with freshly washed sheets.

“Let’s see how he looks in here,” said Porthos, taking the baby and placing him in the center of his new bed. “Tiny,” he uttered, reclaiming him quickly. “I think he’s better off in his crib for now. How old is he, by the way?”

“Nearly a month,” replied Athos. “I thought Marie would have been back for him by now.”

“Do you want to give him up?” Porthos fastened Raoul into the buggy and rocked it gently when he began to whinge. 

“I don’t know.” To be honest, Athos was at his wit’s end and couldn’t determine up from down. “I love him, but I don’t know if I’m prepared to be a full time time dad.”

“Question is are you prepared not to be?” Porthos patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s order a takeaway. I’m starving and I don’t reckon you’ve eaten for a week.”

Loathed to let Porthos go, Athos jumped at the chance and ordered the biggest Chinese banquet on the menu.

“While we’re waiting for dinner, you have a bath and I’ll look after the monkey,” said Porthos, nudging the pushchair with his toe, every inch the experienced baby minder.

“He’ll need feeding and changing soon,” replied Athos dubiously. 

“I’m a dab hand at all that,” said Porthos. “Honestly, mate. Go. I’ll be fine.”

The sound of running water was blissful, but it was even nicer to hear Porthos chattering away in the background, talking to the baby as he tended to all his needs. For the first time in a week Athos relaxed enough to doze off and stole a few minutes of rest, woken by the sound of the doorbell. Scrubbing himself dry on a towel, he pulled on underwear, jeans and a t-shirt then hurried off to help with dinner.

“Sorry,” he said, getting plates out of the cupboard as Porthos unpacked the brown paper bags. I fell asleep.”

“It’s fine,” said Porthos, dishing up. “You looked as though you needed it. I can stay on for a while tonight, though I have to be away pretty early in the morning for work.”

Athos felt horribly guilty. “What do you do?” he asked.

Porthos beamed. “I’m a jobbing actor with never enough jobs to get by on. Tomorrow, though, I’m going away to Toulouse to play a thug in a gangster movie so I really need my beauty sleep.”

It sounded exciting. Athos vaguely remembered when his own life was a thrill, although he’d been a hanger on rather than an active participant.

“What do you do?” asked Porthos. 

“Nothing,” said Athos gloomily. “Well, technically I’m a lawyer, but I don’t practice anywhere at present.”

“You haven’t been disbarred, have you?” said Porthos, that look of curiosity back on his face.

“Nothing as interesting as that.” Athos poured out glasses of Coke. “I just never got around to it. I was about to apply for jobs when Raoul came along.”

“When he’s old enough you can go back to work,” said Porthos consolingly as he dived into his plate of food. “Hey, are you allowed children in these apartments? I’m sure it says something about no kids on the lease.”

“That’s discriminatory,” said Athos. “The landlord wouldn’t stand a chance if he wanted to throw us out.” He wasn’t quite ready to reveal that he was, in fact, the owner of the building.


	4. Chapter 4

With Porthos away on location filming his movie, Athos disintegrated into a constant state of fear. There was something reassuring about having a friend so close by if he ever needed help, and he was missing the safety net. 

Still not certain whether Raoul was being difficult or was simply a normal eight week old baby, Athos struggled with the demands of fatherhood. Having posted the registration form back to the doctor's surgery as soon as possible, he was relieved to be sent a summons through the mail for Raoul to attend the baby clinic in order to receive the first of his vaccinations.

On the appointed day Athos set off in determined fashion, armed this time with everything he could possibly need. He’d written out a long list of questions and arrived at the health centre prepared for a lengthy consultation session on how to bring up his son. To his surprise, Raoul was immediately shipped off to be weighed by the nurses and before Athos could open his mouth, the baby was back with him, squawking angrily at everyone having had a needle inserted into his chubby arm. Moments later the two of them were being ushered out of the clinic.

“But is everything all right?” he asked the nurse, blinking in confusion as he fastened Raoul into the buggy. 

“Everything’s fine, M de la Fère,” she replied with a smile of reassurance. “Raoul is a lively, healthy baby and you’re doing an excellent job with him. He may become a little feverish after today, but that’s only to be expected. You’ll receive an appointment for his second set of jabs soon enough.”

It was becoming startlingly apparent that the mum’s forums were far more useful than the health professionals at coaching him on the basics of parenthood. 

Feeling weighed down all over again, Athos popped into the supermarket for some essentials, picking up one or two items for Raoul from the toy section. It was an uncomfortable feeling being out and about after such a long time, and he soon came to the conclusion that he’d been relying on deliveries far too much. It seemed as though every pair of eyes in the shop was following him, judging him as he pushed his son around as if they knew he wasn’t worthy of being a father.

In the end it was a relief to come home. He lingered outside Porthos’ door, fist raised ready to knock, but then chickened out at the last minute. He was of no use to anyone, even as a friend. From now on he had to accept the fact that it was just him and baby. 

Go on, see if he’s there, said a quiet inner voice and although Athos tried to ignore it, the lure of companionship was too great. Summoning up some courage, he banged on the door and waited a while, but there was no answer. Porthos was still busy being an actor.

Back in the flat, he sank down onto the couch, keeping the pushchair moving with his foot and wishing that a cup of coffee would magically appear next to him. 

Whilst Raoul was still asleep he made himself a quick sandwich and then set about constructing the new play mat with its little bar of toys. With a huge sense of achievement he slotted the final piece into position and removed the plastic tabs from the battery compartments.

“I made something, kiddo,” he murmured. “Daddy isn’t totally hopeless after all.”

When Raoul woke up, Athos already had the change stuff prepared and the milk heating in a warmer. The baby was more out of sorts than usual and even with a fresh nappy in place he rejected his bottle and screamed furiously when Athos tried to lie him down on the new play mat.

“Okay okay,” said Athos, picking him up and soothing him, then trying him with the milk again to no avail. “Daddy’s got you. Everything’s okay.” He walked him around the flat, using the strange bouncing motion that all new parents seemed to perfect within a matter of hours.

Remembering what the nurse had told him, Athos tried not to get too worried when day turned to night and Raoul got hotter and sicker. A quick call to a helpline told him to dose the baby up with infant paracetamol and let nature take its course, but by two a.m. when his son was screaming blue murder at him and needing a change of nappy every hour, Athos was close to panic stations. It was only the strict voice of the triage nurse that stopped him from calling a taxi and racing over to the hospital.

The next day Raoul’s breathing began to get worse and Athos couldn’t get an ounce of milk into him. Terrified, he sank down onto the couch, staring at the listless child in the buggy and wondering what to do for the best.

The loud knock startled him and he jumped up, shoving the pushchair in his haste and making Raoul cry out in tiny gasping breaths. Picking the baby up to try and comfort him, he answered the door and gazed soundlessly at the silhouette of Porthos, unable to form words at first he was so relieved to see him.

“I’m back,” said Porthos with a wide grin.

“Raoul’s sick,” croaked Athos in reply. “But they say it’s just a reaction to his jabs and that I don’t have to worry.”

Porthos rested a large paw on the baby’s forehead. “Has he been taking his feeds?”

“No,” said Athos. 

“Then we get him to the hospital.” Porthos pushed past him into the apartment. “Have you got a car?”

Athos shook his head, as lifeless as the baby.

“We’ll take mine,” said Porthos. “It ain’t up to much, but it’ll get us down the road.”

Using some kind of trickery, he disconnected the buggy from its frame and then took Raoul from Athos, strapping him into the transformed carry seat.

“Sort out his changing bag and some clothes while I’ll load him into my car. We’ll wait for you outside,” he continued, a frustrated expression appearing when Athos stood in one spot. “Come on, bro,” he urged. “Your little man needs you to be strong.”

Athos forced some life back into his weary body and began to move, filling the bag with stuff then grabbing his keys and racing outside to wait on the steps. Within seconds, a battered Renault pulled up and Athos climbed into the backseat.

“Why isn’t he crying?” he asked as he leaned forward and peered at Raoul. 

“Probably too tired like you,” said Porthos, but his mouth was fixed into a grim line. “We’ll soon be at the hospital. Don’t panic.”

That was easier said than done. For the last month and a half Athos had consisted of nothing but a burgeoning sense of fear, which by now was reaching previously unknown heights.

Slinging the car into the nearest space to the entrance, Porthos unfolded the buggy frame and fixed the seat into position whilst Athos slotted vast amounts of euros into the ticket machine. He didn’t want to keep running back and forth to feed the meter.

He was shaking convulsively, on the point of being sick, and was beginning to wonder whether it was a virus that both he and his son were suffering from. Gripping the handles of the pushchair, he followed Porthos into the Emergency department and wondered what to say for the best. He was a sorry excuse of a parent, unable to recognise that his own child needed help.

“It’s probably nothing,” said Porthos as they queued up at reception, “but it's best to make sure, eh?”

Athos nodded and stared at the faint geometric pattern on the floor.

“Patient’s name,” said a voice.

“Raoul de la Fère,” stammered Athos, spelling it out for her.

“Date of birth?”

“14th of May,” said Athos. “This year,” he clarified afterwards when she glared at him. “He had his first injections two days ago and he’s been getting worse and worse since. He has a high fever and he hasn’t fed properly since yesterday.”

“Sit down and a nurse will call you in a short while,” said the receptionist.

“I’ll take him straight through to cubicle three now,” said a voice from behind them. “This way, gentlemen.”

Athos wheeled around to see a kindly face, warm brown eyes and a smiling mouth that was partially hidden by a waxed moustache and a Van Dijk beard. The man was dressed in scrubs and, having no understanding of the colour coding, Athos could only guess that he was one of the nurses since he was so friendly and down to earth.

“Can I come with you?” said Porthos.

“Of course,” said the man. “The more the merrier. My name’s Aramis. I’m one of the emergency registrars and I’ll be looking after Raoul for you. How old did you say he was?”

“Eight weeks,” said Athos. “He had his first set of immunisations two days ago.”

“And is mum aware of the situation?” asked Aramis as he unbuckled the harness and lifted Raoul onto the examination couch.

“It’s just me,” explained Athos, full of nerves. “I’m the one looking after him. They said on the helpline that this was a reaction to the vaccine.”

“I don’t think so,” said the doctor, unfastening the babygro and vest and listening to Raoul’s chest. “He’s struggling to breathe and he’s dehydrated. I suspect he’s picked up a chest infection. He needs a clean nappy. You do that whilst I arrange an admission with paediatrics.”

If changing his little boy was some kind of test to see how competent he was as a father then Athos felt he’d passed with flying colours. Raoul had never made it this easy for him before. With the baby dressed again and snuggled safely in his arms, Athos listened to Aramis chattering on the phone and buried his face in Raoul’s hair, praying that his son would make it through this. He was so small and lost, eyes bright from the fever as he gazed helplessly up at Athos.

“I’m here, baby boy,” he murmured. “The doctor will make you all better. Daddy’s here.”

“Porthos is here too,” reminded the big man, resting an arm around Athos’ shoulders and smiling at Raoul. 

If he’d had any resistance left Athos would have fought the onset of tears, but every ounce of resilience was gone. 

“He’ll be fine,” Porthos reassured him. “Kiddies are like this, down one minute and up the next. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m trying,” said Athos, choking up even more. “But it’s hard.”

“They’re finding a bed for him ASAP,” said Aramis. “Porthos, can you take Raoul out of here for a sec? I want to have a quick word with Athos.”

This was it, thought Athos as he handed Raoul over to the big man then collapsed into one of the plastic hospital chairs. He’d been found out. They knew he wasn’t a competent parent and they were going to take his son away from him. 

“Is Porthos your partner?” asked Aramis.

Athos shook his head. “My neighbour. A friend,” he managed to say.

“So, it’s just you and baby,” said Aramis gently.

This time Athos nodded. “His mother didn’t want him and so she left him with me.” He looked up in a panic. “It’s all official.” He scrabbled in the bag to find the little red book and tried to hand it over to Aramis who waved it aside. “He’s my child. I’m on the birth certificate. He’s registered at the health centre.”

“When did you last eat something more than a croissant?” asked Aramis, folding his arms. 

“I had a sandwich,” said Athos. He couldn’t quite remember when, but he had made one in the last twenty four hours.

“And what about sleep?”

“Raoul’s been sick for days,” said Athos defensively, wrapping both arms around himself.

“And before then?” asked Aramis.

“I find it hard to switch off,” admitted Athos. “I panic a lot that something’s going to go wrong if I’m not awake all the time.”

“So, you’re trying to bring up a new baby on your own without eating or sleeping.” Aramis reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re a good father, Athos. I’m not worried about Raoul. He has a touch of bronchiolitis and a stay in hospital with some antibiotics and rehydration will sort him out. I am, however, worried about you. You can’t go on like this.”

“Please don’t take him away from me,” gasped Athos and that was it, the tears were unstoppable, and hiding his face he cried until he was close to being sick.

“We don’t take children away from parents who love them and look after them,” said Aramis. “But I do want you to go to your GP and talk to him about your depression.”

“I’m not depressed,” said Athos, scrubbing at his face with a rough paper towel from the dispenser. “I’m just tired.”

“Get some help,” Aramis began but then he was interrupted, to Athos’ utter relief, by a phone call from the paediatrics department and wandered out of the cubicle to talk to the admissions nurse.

“Is everything okay?” asked Porthos, poking his head through the curtains. “You look wrecked.”

“I am a bit,” said Athos with a tear stained half smile. “I had an embarrassing meltdown in front of the doctor, but he took it in his stride. The good news is that he reckons Raoul will be all right.”

Porthos came in with the buggy and sat down in the orange seat that was lined up next to his grey one. “Look at the little monkey,” he said with a grin. “He’s sleeping like a baby.”

It was clear to see that the fever was easing off.

“Once he has his steak and chips and keeps it down I reckon we’ll be packed off home,” continued Porthos.

“I can’t wait,” said Athos with an immense amount of feeling. Hospitals were unnerving places, even when they contained kind doctors like Aramis.

“Having a good cry can be a positive thing,” said Porthos. “I do it all the time, especially when I’m worried.”

“Thanks,” said Athos gratefully. “I feel a bit better now I know that they’re not planning on taking Raoul away from me.”

“Why ever would they do that?” said Porthos, looking incredulously from father to sleeping baby. “You’re a great dad.”

Athos shrugged. He didn’t feel that great.

“He is,” agreed Aramis, once again appearing in the cubicle. “And now it’s time for you to go up to the ward and settle your little man in for the night. If he still won’t take his feed then they might put him on an IV, but looking at how much he’s improved since he’s been here I expect he’ll be ready for a bottle by the time you get there.”

“Thank you,” said Athos gratefully. 

“Please remember what I said.” Aramis shook his hand and then turned his attention to Porthos. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you both.”

“What a lovely bloke,” said Porthos as they made their way to the lift. “Good looking too.”

“Nice, but not my type,” said Athos thinking of green eyed brunettes. His marriage to Anne seemed several lifetimes ago now. “Maybe you should ask him out,” he suggested, ignoring the strange pang of loneliness that followed these words.

“Maybe I will,” said Porthos, though he didn’t sound overly enthusiastic. “Do you think he’s gay?”

“They say that everyone’s a bit gay.” Athos blushed when he remembered his last one night stand with a boy called d’Artagnan. “It’s at least worth finding out if he’s single and interested. What have you got to lose?”

“I’ll do that,” said Porthos, pressing the buzzer of the paediatrics ward. “Thanks, mate.”

After a twelve hour stay in the neonatal unit, during which Raoul proved himself to be far better at social situations than his father, the party of three were discharged, much to Athos’ relief.

If it hadn’t been for Porthos he would never have coped with the shock of this, coming close to falling apart on several occasions, and as they pulled into a parking space on Rue Ferou, Athos studied his fingernails and tried to think of something appropriate to say.

“Thank you,” was all he managed, but Porthos beamed nonetheless.

“Let’s get the babe into his bed and then we can have a decent cup of coffee and chill out for a bit.”

With two of them to share the parenting life seemed so much easier, and as Athos fastened Raoul into his buggy, he felt overwhelmed by guilt. “You should have had a mum,” he murmured as the baby stared up at him.

“Better a lovely dad than a bitch of a mother,” said Porthos vehemently. “I’d have given my right arm for a father like you.”

Shit! Once again Athos was on the verge of tears. This was ridiculous. For a fleeting moment he wondered whether Aramis was right and that he should go and have a chat to his doctor, but then he remembered a previous encounter with the GP and couldn’t imagine spilling his guts out to that starchy faced bastard.

“Hurry up,” insisted Porthos, urging them onwards and helping Athos carry the pushchair up the steps. “I need sustenance and so does young Mr de la Fère, by the sound of things.”

Ashamed of how little there was in his kitchen cupboards, Athos ignored the situation and set about bathing and changing Raoul. Collecting a bottle from the warmer he then lay on the bed with the baby tucked against him, raised high up enough on a pillow so that he wouldn’t choke as he drank. 

The next thing Athos knew, he was covered by a blanket, the baby was fast asleep in the crib beside him and there was a delicious aroma of cooking in the air. Rubbing his eyes, he swung his legs out of bed and wandered into the bathroom for a shower, sheepishly appearing in the kitchen a few minutes later with that antiseptic hospital smell washed away down the plughole.

“Hello there, my friend,” said Porthos, that huge grin in place. “Feeling better after a nap?”

Athos nodded.

“Sit down,” continued Porthos. “I brought some stuff over from mine to cook for us. I hope you like spicy food.”

“I love it,” said Athos, his mouth watering at the sight of the chicken all covered in a sticky sauce.

“I decided to learn about my heritage and combine it with my enjoyment of cooking,” said Porthos, serving up the meat onto a bed of rice and vegetables. “Et voila.”

Silence descended as they both tucked in to the meal, and it was so damn good that in no time at all Athos was holding out his plate for more. 

“If you don’t start looking after yourself I’m going to move in and be your housekeeper,” laughed Porthos.

“I wouldn’t object,” said Athos, forgetting his manners and talking with a full mouth.

All too soon Porthos made a move to go home and, unable to come up with an excuse as to why he should stay, Athos followed him to the door. “Thank you for everything,” he said, gripping his hand tightly. “We wouldn’t have got through this without you.”

“No problem, mate,” said Porthos. “I’m always here if you need me.” His face dropped. “Oh except for the next few days because I’m off to London for some auditions. Keep your fingers crossed for me.”

“I will,” said Athos. “Bye for now.”

Closing the door, he leant against it and breathed in deeply, letting the air out in a slow hiss. Once more it was just him, him and Raoul. The two of them versus world, with a mountain to climb all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

Athos counted down the days until Porthos’ return, watching out of the window in hope of spotting the big man back to his usual routine of those twice daily runs. Catching him on the steps one morning, he presented him with his best smile which he only dusted off for special occasions.

“Hello. How did the auditions go?”

“A washout,” said Porthos, but then he brightened visibly. “I’m up for another part that’s really cool though. I’m not saying anything else because I’ll only jinx it, but this could be massive.”

Success would mean Porthos moving away from here which made Athos inexplicably sad, but he knew how much acting meant to the man and so he did his best to look pleased for him. “Did you ever get around to asking Aramis out?” he mentioned in passing.

“I did,” said Porthos, looking happier still. “As a matter of fact, we’re meeting up for a drink later on today.” He clamped a solid hand down onto Athos’ shoulder. “You and that baby of yours are my good luck charms. How’s the little guy doing?”

“Fine,” said Athos, distracted. “He’s fine. We’re both fine.”

They parted company in very different moods from each other, although hopefully Porthos was in the dark about this, and when Athos let himself back into the flat he raced over to the front window to watch his neighbour jog away up the street. 

Everybody moved on, he told himself. Everybody but him.

Despite being determined to venture out with Raoul as often as possible, Athos was turning inexorably into a recluse. With all the will in the world, he was struggling to look after himself and couldn’t be bothered to do more than heat up a tin of soup when hungry which added to his permanent state of exhaustion. None of this was deliberate; the demands of being a single parent were so many that he never seemed to have time to cook meals, or take the baby out for those long afternoon walks in the park. He’d also rejected the idea of going to the local baby groups as he knew they’d be entirely populated by women who’d either fuss over him or consider him a freak -- probably both.

One positive change was that sleep was coming more easily to him and he’d happily draw the curtains and nap the day away with the baby lying next to him in his crib, ignoring all phone calls and knocks at the door unless he was expecting a supermarket delivery. His new world was an insular one, but at least it was safe.

The days rolled steadily by and soon leaves were falling and the nights were growing chillier. Raoul was a treasure, smiling at him properly, enjoying a splash in the bath and the coziness of bed time when Athos would read him a story and then tuck him in. He’d be awake again soon enough, but there was still a quiet enjoyment to be found from doing this.

The second appointment card, that had arrived in the mail, had been threatening Athos from the mantelpiece for a couple of weeks now. Today was the day when he’d have to take Raoul along to the clinic for more vaccinations and he was dreading it. Suppose something went wrong again. Suppose this time the consequences were worse.

Bundling Raoul up to ward off the sudden snap of cold, Athos fastened the baby into the buggy and then pulled on a tatty overcoat, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he did so. He was a state, his beard untrimmed, his hair a shaggy mess. The clothes that he’d thrown on this morning were clean, but decidedly old. What would they think of him down at the health centre?

If there was any way Athos could have backed out of this trip then he would have done so, but Raoul was the most important thing in his life--his son needed him--and so, wrapping his coat around him like armour, he opened the front door and braved outside for the first time in weeks.

Footsteps chased after him as he wheeled the buggy down the road.

“Athos wait! I’ve been worried about you,” called Porthos. “Where have you been?”

“Here,” said Athos as he carried on walking.

“Then why the fuck haven’t you answered the door or the phone?” Porthos caught up and stopped him with an arm. “I even got Aramis to check the hospital records and make sure that nothing had happened to Raoul.”

Athos rubbed his temples, confused by this sudden display of concern. “I have to go. I have an appointment at the baby clinic.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Porthos, zipping up his leather jacket and taking the change bag from Athos’ shoulder. “I’m sure you could do with an extra pair of hands.”

“Thanks,” muttered Athos, his resistance lower than ever. If only Porthos would offer to take the baby on his own then he could go back to bed and sleep for a few more hours.

Too anxious to chat, Athos managed to block every further attempt at conversation and they arrived at the health centre in silence, booking in on the machine and then following the corridor around to the clinic.

Raoul seemed happy to see Porthos, not that he actually remembered him, but he was full of smiles as he rested on that comfortable looking lap. 

“You be careful with him,” Porthos growled at the nurse in fun as she whisked the baby away. “He’s a very precious little boy.”

Athos wished he could be as outgoing and pleasant natured as his friend, but nothing ever came easy to him. He used to be quick witted, able to recall legal precedents with a razor sharp mind and then present his arguments to a room full of people. Now he could barely say hello, or remember what month it was.

Once Raoul had received his injection and was being comforted by his surrogate dad, Athos was called over to have a few minutes chat with one of the nurses. 

“Your son’s doing beautifully,” she said. “I see from the notes he had a bout of bronchiolitis which you dealt with in just the right way. You’ll be glad to know that his chest is all clear. His weight is also fine and he probably won’t need to start on solid food until he’s six months, but he is a big lad so it might be a bit sooner than that. Is he sleeping okay?”

“Yes,” said Athos.

“And is daddy sleeping too?”

God, Athos loathed her condescending tone, even if she did mean well. “Yes,” he said with a nod.

“You should think about socialising him,” she continued. “There are some lovely groups around here. You’re not the only single dad in Paris.“

Athos nodded again, but imagined that oddball specimens, such as him, were as rare as hen’s teeth. “Thanks,” he said by way of bringing the conversation to an end. 

Taking Raoul from Porthos, he dressed the grumbling baby in his outdoor clothes and strapped him back into the pushchair.

“How was it?” said Porthos.

“Fine,” said Athos in a monotone.

Porthos lowered his voice. “And what about you?”

Athos glared sideways at him as they walked home. “I told you before, everything’s okay.”

“You haven’t been out on your own once since you had him,” persisted Porthos. “Let me babysit for you tomorrow night. It’ll give you a break.”

“I can’t,” said Athos. “He might get sick.”

“You know that’s really unlikely.” Porthos glanced sideways at him. “It would do you good.”

“It’s Friday tomorrow,” said Athos, keeping his eyes fixed firmly in front of him. “Haven’t you got a date with your handsome doctor?”

“Things with Aramis kind of petered out,” admitted Porthos. “Relationships are impossible when one of you’s in love with someone else.”

“Oh,” said Athos. “Sorry.”

“You win some; you lose some,” said Porthos with a shrug. “I’ll get over him eventually.”

Athos hated the idea of his friend moping over Aramis. “Sounds like you’re the one who needs to go out,” he said.

“Let’s do that now.” Porthos bounced on his toes like a boxer. “There’s a really nice coffee place I know and Raoul’s fast asleep so he won’t complain.”

Athos was uncertain. “I don’t know.”

“Come on. It’s not far from here,” persisted Porthos. “I’m pretty sure you’ll like it.”

Not the sort to be easily persuaded, Athos was surprised to find himself following Porthos through a series of narrow streets until they came to a leafy square with an area of green in the middle. To the far left was a tiny brick built art gallery with a kiosk attached to one side. The building was surrounded by a mismatched set of bistro furniture and looked most appealing.

Athos chose the table nearest the heater, then sat down and checked that Raoul was still out for the count. He smiled at the sight of those rosy cheeks and long lashes, a more perfect work of art than any that would be hanging on the walls of the gallery.

“I love seeing you look at that baby,” said Porthos, coming over with a tray of coffees and cakes. “Even when you’re miserable you always have a smile for him.”

“He’s a little angel,” said Athos. “The only worthwhile thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“I s’pose the law degree was nothing, a piece of piss in comparison.” 

Porthos may have been laughing at him, but he was right. “It was actually.” Athos smiled. “Bringing up Raoul is the hardest thing I’ve ever attempted.”

“Which is why you need a break from it,” persisted Porthos. “Go out with your friends for a couple of hours tomorrow night. Let your hair down and remember what it’s like to be Athos de la Fère. You’re not just Raoul’s dad, you know.”

“You really think I should?” asked Athos.

“I know you should.” Porthos swallowed a piece of danish. “I’ll be round at seven, so make sure you’re ready to go.”

This was the most enjoyable day Athos had spent in years and as they walked home together, with Porthos acting like a child and kicking up the piles of leaves at the side of the pavement, Athos wished, wholeheartedly, that they could be doing the same thing again tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Porthos as Athos answered the door. “That’s one hell of a transformation. I can actually see your face.”

Athos smirked, uncomfortable with compliments, even from Porthos. It had taken almost a hour to trim back the beard with scissors and then shave it down to stubble, but it had been worth it. He couldn’t do anything about the length of his hair but at least he’d made an effort. Dressed all in black, wearing his favourite worn Levis, a button down shirt and an ancient leather jacket, he felt reasonable -- terrified but vaguely human.

“Is the baby boy all fed and watered?”

Athos nodded. Maybe he should run to the corner shop and buy a bottle of wine so that they could all spend some time together. “He’s asleep in the bedroom. I could stay in. We could find something on Netflix.”

Porthos clamped both hands down onto his shoulders. “You need to get away from here for a few hours and have some fun. Go out and enjoy yourself. Raoul and me will be just fine.”

“I’m going,” said Athos, smiling when Porthos kissed him on both cheeks and leaning into the contact. “I know I’m sounding like a broken record, but thank you.”

“Go,” said Porthos, kissing him once more for luck.

Being outside was bad enough, but being outside on his own was terrifying. At first Athos had no idea where to go and his instinct was to run straight home, but part of him knew that Porthos was right. He did need to remember what it was like to be him. 

Taking the Metro to his old hunting grounds, he stopped off at a convenience store and bought a pack of cigarettes then checked his phone to see if Porthos had rung him. The answer sadly was no, and after getting a bundle of cash out from the machine he lit a Marlboro and wondered what to do with himself. The bars along the boulevard were brightly lit and noisy. He was repelled by them, but at the same time the lure of a drink was strong. Having proved that he was no alcoholic, it didn’t seem a bad idea to have a couple of quick shots, just to help him relax.

Bracing himself for the onslaught, he made his way to a familiar doorway and pushed through a crowd of people to the bar. 

“Double vodka,” he shouted to the barman, handing over a ten euro note. The drink disappeared all too quickly, the burn in his stomach an old friend, but the nerves were still out in full force. “Another,” he said, and once the glass was in his hand he turned to watch the band that were playing at the far end of the building.

“They’re good,” said a voice from beside him. “I slept with the guitarist last week, but he’s far too kinky for my taste. I won’t be going back for seconds.” 

Athos turned his head to see who was talking to him.

“You, on the other hand, are someone I could happily have another ride on,” grinned d’Artagnan.

Athos stared into those tawny brown eyes and wished that they were a shade or two different in colour. 

“Can I get you a drink?” continued the young man, his mouth pressed close to Athos’ ear.

“Why not?” replied Athos. “I’ll have a neat vodka.”

“My kind of guy,” shouted d’Artagnan, ordering a bottle of Smirnoff and topping up both their glasses. “So, where have you been hiding?”

“Long story,” replied Athos with no intention of recounting it. Taking his phone out of his pocket he checked again to see if there were any missed calls or texts, but all was quiet on the home front. “Tell me about you,” he said, leaning in close to make himself heard. “I bet your life’s a lot more exciting than mine.”

Athos had no idea why he was flirting with d’Artagnan. He had no real interest in the kid, aside from a deep seated desire to learn more about that masculine body. The sudden fascination scared him and he gulped down another shot and then topped up his glass.

Several hours later he found himself in the men’s room of a disgustingly expensive nightclub, dance music blaring out over the speakers. Barely able to think, he snorted lines of cocaine from a mirrored surface and relished the freedom of that all encompassing rush to the top of the world. 

“You are so wrecked,” giggled d’Artagnan as he reached out to rub the palm of his hand over Athos’ crotch. “I’ve never seen anyone drink so much and still be standing upright. Shall we head back to your place and carry on the party in private?”

Home. All of a sudden Athos remembered about home and, more importantly, who was at home waiting for him. In a panic, he groped for his phone but the useless thing was old and had run out of charge.

“I have to go,” he said, his heart racing double time. “I have to go now.” The world began to spin and he rocked backwards, the motion causing him to feel violently sick. “I have to go home,” he gasped as he stumbled into the toilet cubicle and fell to his knees retching.

“That’s it, honey,” came d’Artagnan’s voice. “You’ll feel better soon enough.”

As he vomited over and over again, all Athos could think about was Porthos sat on the sofa waiting for him back at the flat with Raoul nestled in his arms. Slumping sideways, he curled into a foetal position on the floor of the stall and groaned as the world went dark.

\---

“Athos, wake up!”

The stringent voice hurt his throbbing head and he opened his eyes to find out how to make it stop, but could see nothing other than a rainbow dazzle of lights.

“How much has he had to drink tonight?”

The words drifted away from him and the last thing he remembered was being lifted and carried.

\---

“Stop it. Go away.” He fought violently against the arms that were restricting him and lashed out hard with his fists. “Let me go. I need to go.”

“Catheterise him,” someone said. “We’ll pump his stomach and then put him on an IV.” 

There was no way Athos could keep up the fight and he had no choice but to give in to this embarrassment as tubes were inserted in too many places and he was rolled over onto his left side.

“You were with him,” said that voice which was triggering a ricochet memory of hospital sounds and smells. “How much did he have to drink?”

“A lot,” said d’Artagnan. “A bottle and a half of vodka. Maybe more.”

“Who’s looking after his baby?”

“I don’t know anything about a baby,” said d’Artagnan in confusion.

Athos tried to speak but the tube going down his throat made it impossible and, gagging, he fought violently again in order to free himself.

“Enough, Athos. Calm down. We’re trying to help you.” 

A face slowly came into focus and Athos recognised it as belonging to Aramis, the kindly doctor from the Emergency department at the hospital. Only this time he didn’t seem so kind. Finally submitting to this, he let the medical staff tend to him, utterly humiliated as he lay half naked on the bed, his clothes, soaked with bodily fluids, stripped away from him. All his thoughts were with Raoul and Porthos. If only he’d thought of them sooner.

Fuck! Oh fuck. He’d really screwed things up now for everyone, not just himself. The only thing to do was pass out again in hope that he would die.

\---

“I phoned Porthos. I had to know if Raoul was safe.”

Athos opened his eyes and, avoiding the solemn face above him, looked around to discover that he was lying in a small hospital room, his wrists restrained by straps. An IV was inserted into his arm and he could feel the pressure of a tube draining his bladder.

“I’d never leave my son on his own,” he said as a riposte to Aramis’ cruel words. His throat was like burning sandpaper and he could barely force the sentence out. 

“Porthos was petrified. He assumed you must have had an accident,” said Aramis as he unfastened the straps. “He couldn’t imagine why else you hadn’t come home.”

“I made a mistake,” said Athos sullenly.

“Listen to me, M de la Fère,” said Aramis, leaning closer and speaking in a very low voice. “I know that you were doing more than just alcohol last night. None of my staff picked up on it and so, for the moment, this conversation is off the record. Right now, I’m putting my job on the line for you. If it turns out that you’re an addict and that Raoul is at risk then I’ll never forgive myself. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m not a cokehead,” rasped Athos. “I promise. I was an idiot.”

“You were reckless and criminally irresponsible. You came a hair’s breadth away from dying last night. You terrified Porthos and almost left your baby without a father. I’m this close to reporting you.” Aramis held thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. “In fact, I know that I should.”

“Please,” begged Athos. “I won’t do it again.”

“If you didn’t have Porthos to support you then I’d be talking to children's services right now.” Aramis’ expression was one of utter disgust. “He says he’ll be on his way in as soon as Raoul wakes up. He’s bringing you some clean clothes.”

“I didn’t mean this to happen.” Athos looked away in embarrassment.

“The kid who came in the ambulance with you is still here.” Aramis continued on with his lecture. “You don’t deserve to have friends like him, and you certainly don’t deserve Porthos.”

“I know,” said Athos, feeling like shit. “He loves you. You should give up on this other guy and choose him instead.”

Aramis shook his head. “Athos, you’re an idiot in so many ways,” he said with a prolonged sigh. “It’s not me that’s in love with someone else; it’s Porthos.”


	7. Chapter 7

Waking from a nightmare, Athos cautiously sat up and wrapped that scratchy hospital gown around his naked body. He was being smothered by an onslaught of paranoia. What on earth could he say that would justify his actions? All he could do was admit his mistakes and beg for Porthos’ forgiveness.

Their first conversation turned out to be so brief that he barely had time to say hello, let alone confess his sins.

“You’re awake?” 

“Yes,” said Athos, trying his hardest to summon a smile.

“D’Artagnan’s been waiting to see you all night,” said Porthos. “I’ll show him in.”

“Porthos please,” stammered Athos.

“Later,” said Porthos in a voice that was more angry than gruff. Hardly a surprise.

“Athos,” exclaimed d’Artagnan in relief as he came in and sat next to the bed, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it gently. “Oh my god, I thought you were going to die.”

Athos considered this for a few seconds. Maybe it would have been better all around if he _had_ kicked the bucket. That way Porthos wouldn’t have to put up with him and Raoul would get the family he deserved. “I’m still here,” he muttered, easing his fingers free.

“I didn’t know you had a baby,” said d’Artagnan. “I’d never have hit on you so hard if I’d known. I’m sorry.”

Athos shook his head. “I’m sorry for messing you around.” He gulped, his throat feeling as raw as if it had been attacked with a grater. “And for what happened last night.”

“At least you’re okay,” said d’Artagnan, standing up and pressing a kiss to Athos’ forehead.

He shied away from it, wanting neither sympathy nor kindness. “I’ll see you around,” he said, his lips tugging up at the corner in a semblance of a smile.

“I don’t think so,” replied D’Artagnan as he made his way to the door. “At least I hope not. You have people who need you.” He turned at the last minute, raising his hand in farewell. “Bye, Athos.”

After that Athos heard the words, _he’s all yours_ and the apprehension made him feel sick all over again. He waited, wringing his hands together in panic and hoping that he hadn’t let Porthos down too much. His friend must surely have realised what a disaster he was before now.

“I’m sorry,” he said the moment Porthos entered the room carrying the car seat.

“Tell it to him,” said Porthos, unfastening the harness then lifting Raoul out and handing him to Athos. “I ain’t even listening to you.”

The baby was warm and sleepy, smiling at Athos with love in his eyes as he gripped hold of his finger. “Hello, sweetheart," murmured Athos. “I missed you so much.”

Porthos snorted in disgust as he stood looking out of the window with his arms folded.

“Has he been okay?” asked Athos in a small voice.

“He’s been bloody brilliant, which is more than can be said for his dad.”

“I didn’t mean to go on a binge again,” said Athos. “I’m sorry, okay, but it’s what I do. What I used to do,” he corrected himself. “I tried to put all that behind me. I thought I had, but I know better now.” He paused for a minute, hoping to see a softening of those rigid shoulders, but there was none. “I really am sorry, Porthos. I never intended to hurt you or Raoul.”

“Well, you did,” said Porthos. “He’ll forgive you because he loves you unconditionally.”

“And you?”

Porthos turned a slow one eighty. “I’m going away next week. I’m off to Los Angeles for a while which is probably a good thing.”

Athos descended deeper into the well of self pity. He’d selfishly convinced himself that Porthos would be there to keep an eye out for him and Raoul, but he could hardly expect the man to put his entire life on hold just for them.

“Is this the big break you were talking about?” he asked as he swung his legs out of bed and placed the baby into his seat.

“Yeah.” Porthos’ smile was forced. “I got a call back. There are still four of us in the running, but that’s a lot better odds than when there were a hundred. It’s a big American TV series and I really want this part.”

“I hope you get it,” said Athos, taking the carrier bag from Porthos and pulling on pants and socks in a flurry of embarrassment. He could shower away the stink from last night as soon as he got back home. Dressing hurriedly in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he collected the soiled clothing from his locker, hid it in the plastic bag and fought the urge to run away. He wasn’t lying when he said that he was hoping Porthos got the job. Getting far away from him was a priority. He had a habit of bringing everyone down to his level.

“Ready?” said Porthos, picking up the carry seat and leaving Athos to gather the remainder of his stuff. 

“Yes,” muttered Athos.

“Then let’s get out of here.” Porthos was still cold, as detached from him as if they were strangers, and as Athos trudged after him along the corridor to the nurses’ station, he was hit by a sudden rush of misery which had double the impact of that cocaine high from last night.

Once the discharge formalities were completed they left the hospital, Athos following Porthos wearily to the car park. The atmosphere during the short journey back to the apartment building was loaded with tension. This time it was Athos who tried to make conversation, with Porthos blocking every attempt. In the end, he gave up and listened instead to Raoul’s breathing, steadied by the snuffly baby snores. 

As they entered the flat Athos was about to thank his friend, as was the custom, but was silenced by a raised hand.

“Don’t bother,” said Porthos. “Concentrate on that little man over there. Think of him, for once, and stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re not the only single parent in the bloody world.”

These harsh words came as a shock. Porthos had always buoyed him up, telling him what a great dad he was, and so to hear the opposite--the truth perhaps--from such a wonderful guy, broke Athos’ heart.

With nothing left to say to one another, they parted company on the worst of terms and having put Raoul down for his nap, Athos then stripped off, throwing today’s clothes into the washing machine, along with the filthy stuff from last night.

As the bath slowly filled with boiling hot water he examined himself in the mirror, seeing a body marred with bruises and tracks from the IV. What a fucking state! No wonder Porthos was done with him.

Soap erased the smell of piss and vomit, but it did little to deal with his pain. In one night he’d managed to destroy every single relationship in his life, bar the one that truly mattered. There was no point in dwelling on the negatives. From now on, he was going to listen to his friend and make sure that Raoul came first. The bruises would fade and hopefully the bad memories along with them.

Once again determined to be a better man, Athos threw himself into looking after his son, enjoying being a parent for the first time. Every tiny change in Raoul instilled a sense of excitement in him. The baby was a chatterbox and whilst not making actual sense, he initiated long conversations with Athos and was always happy to see him, provided that he was comfortable and had a full belly. 

Knowing that it would do them both a power of good, Athos took Raoul for daily walks, invariably stopping off at L’Artiste, that little café kiosk, in the hope that they might bump into Porthos, who must surely be back from California by now. The coincidental meeting never happened, and despite the fact that Athos missed his friend more than words could describe, a large part of him was also pleased. The longer they spent apart, the more likely it was that Porthos would discover a new person when he returned, one no longer full of self loathing and misery.

“Dadadababada,” babbled Raoul as he rolled over and over away from his changing mat, chuckling loudly at Athos when he recaptured him and put him back down.

“Porthos was right; you _are_ an actual monkey,” smiled Athos, narrowly avoiding getting hit in the eye with a stream of wee. “I’m too quick for you now.” Changing and dressing the baby, he then picked him up and sat him on his knee, laughing as Raoul tested the strength of his legs and bounced up and down happily. “Shall we go and see the Christmas lights again, mon petit?”

Raoul cooed at him and grinned, gnawing on a fist to ease the irritation of his inflamed gum where a tooth was beginning to emerge.

“Right then, let’s get you all wrapped up in your coat and hat.”

Proud of both their newfound capabilities, Athos strapped Raoul into his pushchair ready to go out, giving some thought to the next hurdle he must overcome once Christmas was over which, rather irritatingly, would involve people. He needed to join a baby group so that Raoul would get used to being around other children. This parenting thing was a long and involved job.

Opening the door of the flat, he was both shocked and overjoyed to collide headlong into Porthos who was entering the building, armed with a couple of suitcases and the weary expression of someone who'd been on an aeroplane for too many hours.

“Hello, baby boy,” said Porthos, leaning over the pushchair. “Look at you getting all grown up.” Raoul grinned toothlessly and babbled at him, reaching out to grab at his finger. “You’ve got a lot to say for yourself nowadays, haven’t you?”

“You could come over later for a cup of coffee and tell us all about Los Angeles,” suggested Athos, feeling both happy and shy, and rather stupid because of it.

Porthos straightened up and stared at Athos, that trademark grin missing. “I don’t think so,” he said abruptly, unlocking his flat and disappearing inside.

Upset beyond belief at having been blanked in such a cold way, Athos yanked at the front door so hard that it crashed back against the wall. How dare Porthos behave like that? Yeah, he’d been an arse--this was a well established fact--but at least he was finally learning from his mistakes.

“We don’t need him,” he muttered as he bumped the pushchair carefully down each wide stone step. “We don’t need anyone.”

Feeling small and pathetic, Athos rejected the idea of public transport and chose instead to walk into town in order to work off some of his frustration. Before he knew it, he’d reached Montmartre, with its pretty little streets and Christmas lights that twinkled like diamonds in the frosty air, and as he wheeled Raoul around, buying coffee from a roadside vendor then looking in all the boutique windows, he felt suddenly and inexplicably morose. This year, for the first time in ages, he had someone to buy presents for and yet he was still without a partner to share in the excitement.

Cheering himself up, intent on some major retail therapy, he hit the toy shops, buying a selection of expensive gifts, even being silly enough to keep them out of Raoul’s sight so as not to ruin the surprise on Christmas morning. 

“We’ll have a good time,” he said as he crouched next to the pushchair, pointing out a display of dancing penguins to the sleepy baby. He would be everything to Raoul: dad and mum, family and friends. He would be everything his son needed.

With the holidays fast approaching, Athos was out almost every day, wasting far too much of his dwindling savings, the fun of buying presents for Raoul doing something towards filling the void. Occasionally he would bump into Porthos in the lobby, always with the same result, the big man cooing over the little boy whilst completely ignoring him.

In a change to their recent schedule, today was not going at all well. The city had been heaving with festive shoppers, the weather turning from sunshine to sheeting rain whilst they were out and, because of it, the Metro was a nightmare. With no choice but to buy extra wet weather gear for the pushchair and walk home, Athos arrived back at the flat, soaked through and suffering from a bad case of people-phobia. Some days life was impossible to cope with.

On hearing the slam of the front door Porthos appeared in the hallway and, continuing on with the pretence that Athos didn’t exist, he lifted back the plastic covers on the buggy.

“Please don’t wake him up,” begged Athos, but it was too late. Fresh from a fifteen minute power nap Raoul was soon chattering away to Porthos, illustrating his very long story with excited arm movements.

“Hey, my little ray of sunshine,” said Porthos. “You’re a happy feller. Is Santa going to spoil you rotten next week?” 

For a moment Athos was convinced Porthos was going to connect with him--a simple smile would have meant the world--but it didn’t happen. As always, the big man’s attention was focused solely on Raoul, and being wet, miserable and tired, Athos reached the end of his tether.

“You stay away from him,” he snapped, turning the pushchair around so suddenly that it nearly tipped backwards under the weight of all the shopping bags. “If you can’t be bothered to speak to me then you don’t get to talk to Raoul either. From now on, you leave us both alone.”

Porthos stood ramrod straight, his dark eyes widening with surprise, and Athos was utterly convinced that he was about to get a fist in the face. As the big man barrelled toward him, he stiffened, preparing to be punched, but instead of this Porthos planted a kiss on his mouth, rough and hard and full of so much need that Athos rebounded off the wall with shock and then reached for Porthos, kissing him back with just as much determination.

All too soon it was over and Porthos was stumbling away from him. “No,” he muttered. “No fucking way, you stupid bastard.” 

Seconds later Athos found himself alone in the hallway with just a babbling baby for company. “What the hell happened there, kiddo?” he asked Raoul who blinked at him and then chuckled with delight as if he approved very much of the strange turn of events.


	8. Chapter 8

That surprise kiss from Porthos wasn’t a life changing moment. It didn’t awaken in Athos a new sense of understanding, but what it did do was bring everything into sharp relief. He liked Porthos very much indeed. He liked him as a friend and in quiet moments had entertained the idea of something deeper developing between them. He liked Porthos too much for his own good.

Waiting, hoping for a knock at the door, he veered from ecstatic to miserable, frightened of seeing the man in case it caused another confrontation, or worse still, one of those refrigerator moments of rejection. When the time came, as he knew it would, Athos opened the door to discover that Porthos was also being torn apart by a war of emotions.

“I need to explain,” the man said, barely able to make eye contact.

“How about we try talking?” suggested Athos, hefting Raoul higher in an attempt to hinder his efforts to reach Porthos. Now was not the time for playing.

“Can I have a cuddle with him first?” asked the big man, looking as hopeful as the baby and holding out his arms.

Then again, maybe this was the perfect time.

The best of all ice breakers, Raoul toppled forwards, giggling with pleasure when Porthos scooped him up and lifted him high above his head. “You’re such a little love,” he said, hugging the child. He glanced at Athos. “He looks more like you than ever.”

“Coffee?” said Athos with a guarded smile.

“I’d love one,” replied Porthos, throwing the baby up and catching him deftly in safe hands. He’s a bit damp. Shall I change him while you put the kettle on?”

“Please,” said Athos, “but I warn you he’s turned into a wriggler and he loves to piss all over you if you’re not paying attention.”

Porthos laughed loud and long, finally sounding like his old self. “Are you a monster, Raoul?” he said, carrying the baby through to the living room. “I reckon Daddy’s telling fibs about you. How could anyone so cute be such a troublemaker?”

The yelp of horror, a few minutes later, made Athos grin. “Got one in the eye, did you?”

“Nearly,” shouted Porthos. “I blocked it with the nappy just in time.”

When Athos entered the living room, Raoul was strapped in his bouncy chair, playing with the toys and chewing on his chubby fist.

After taking both mugs of coffee and placing them on a side table, Porthos patted the seat next to him on the couch and Athos obediently did as he was told, tucking a leg under himself as he turned sideways to face his friend.

“You kissed me,” he said bluntly. This was no time for small talk.

“I did,” said Porthos with a rather timid smile.

Something warm inside Athos began to unfurl. “It came as a surprise after you’d been ignoring me for so long.”

“A surprise or a shock?” asked Porthos.

“A surprise,” said Athos, leaning forward to replace the blanket around Raoul’s legs. “A nice one,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping upwards.

“That’s good news.” Porthos reached for his coffee and took a swig.

Fed up of skirting around the issue, Athos decided to dive in at the deep end. “I know I behaved appallingly, but why did you pretend I didn’t exist?”

“You upset me,” said Porthos in a gruff voice. “I liked you. I trusted you. You painted this picture of yourself as this sweet, neglected guy, totally lovely and straight forward in all ways.”

“I never said anything of the sort,” muttered Athos. “I was sure you’d seen through me from the start.”

“It’s not the fact you messed up that night,” said Porthos. He lifted Raoul out of the seat and laughed as the baby began to bounce. “You’re a right little jumping bean, aren’t you?” 

“Then tell me what I did wrong,” persisted Athos.

“You were divorced. You had a baby. You told me that Aramis wasn’t your type.”

“Aramis isn’t my type,” said Athos, taking a sip of his coffee.

“You told me to ask him out.” Porthos frowned.

“Well, you’d already told me he _was_ your type.” Athos dug his heels in, feeling bolshy and wondering where all this was heading, probably to another argument with Porthos storming out in a temper.

“I was convinced that you were straight, but then I talked to d’Artagnan in the hospital and found out that you’d slept with him. Worse still, that the two of you were planning on hooking up that night before you drank too much and poisoned yourself.”

“Oh god.” Athos buried his face in his hands. The last thing he wanted was to go into all this. Couldn’t they rewind and start again? This was going horribly wrong. “It’s complicated and embarrassing, but if you really want to know.”

“I do.”

Raoul started to fret and Athos handed Porthos a cup of water which the baby immediately snatched from his fingers. 

“Watch out. We’re in for a soaking,” he advised.

On cue, Raoul shook the cup, laughing merrily as droplets of water sprayed everywhere.

“Bad boy,” chuckled Porthos, taking control of the situation. “Daddy and I are talking, not showering together.” He gave Athos another of those shy smiles, a recent development which melted Athos’ heart. “Go on.”

Athos drew a deep breath and began at the beginning, recounting the story of his marriage and the subsequent divorce which had sent him into a decline.

“I drank too much in order to get over the humiliation,” he said, embellishing as little as possible on the sordid details. “I fucked around a lot, but it was always with women until the morning I woke up with d’Artagnan. I still have no recollection of what happened. All I know is that he said I’d enjoyed myself.” Stealing the baby back from Porthos, he focused on that cheeky little face. “I freaked out at first, but after the initial panic was over I wasn’t bothered in the slightest at having slept with another man. The only reason I felt insecure was because I had no memory of it. I’d lost control and that scared the hell out of me. I had no idea of what else I might have done when out of it and so I got tested and made certain I was healthy.”

He remembered that feeling of utter relief and the subsequent change of direction that resulted from it. God, things were simple back then.

“So you decided to sort yourself out?” prompted Porthos.

Athos nodded. “It was good. I really enjoyed getting to know you and I was even starting to like me for the first time in years, but then this little spanner fell into the works.” Raoul grabbed for his finger and gnawed at it with his new tooth.

“So why hook up with d’Artagnan for a second time?” Porthos looked curious rather than angry.

“I decided to sleep with him to find out what the sex was like,” admitted Athos. “That might make me sound like an arse, but it’s the truth. I was using him to experiment.” He remembered a burgeoning desperation to explore d’Artagnan’s body, to touch every part of him, which was then overridden by something much stronger. “It was a cruel thing to do because it wasn’t him that I wanted.”

Porthos sat forward, elbows on knees, forehead resting on laced hands. This was a hard story to tell and it must be just as hard to hear. Athos sympathised, but he’d started now and he needed to bring an end to this confession.

“I wanted you,” he said softly. “I know you’re in love with someone else--Aramis told me that already--but I love being with you and I hate it when you’re not around. The worst thing of all was when you weren’t speaking to me. It hurt so much and I tried to be a better person-”

“Oh Jesus, Athos, you don’t need to be better,” interrupted Porthos, launching himself back against the couch cushions and looking at Athos properly for the first time in months. There were tears in his eyes. “I’m not in love with someone else, you daft beggar. It’s you. It’s always been you from the moment I met you.”

“Same for me,” said Athos, shifting sideways until they were finally connected with a baby sharing them equally, gifting them with merry smiles and the occasional splash of boiled water.


	9. Chapter 9

After such a huge admission of feelings the normal thing would be to spend the rest of the day locked in a passionate embrace, on an inexorable path to the bedroom, but life wasn’t that simple, not with a boisterous six month old baby demanding constant attention.

Feeding and changing Raoul, whilst Porthos pottered around in the kitchen making lunch, Athos became weighed down with worries all over again. What was he doing throwing himself and all his baggage at his adorable neighbour? However perfect Porthos might be, it simply wasn’t fair.

As Athos laid his son gently in the cot and covered him over with a blanket he looked down at the little boy in wonder. It seemed impossible to believe that he was even partly responsible for the making of such a beautiful child. 

“Caught you staring again,” murmured Porthos, coming over to stand next to him.

Slightly embarrassed, Athos wound the music box on the mobile and drew the curtains then leaned over to kiss Raoul on his chubby cheek. “Quiet now, baby. Nap time,” he said, raising the side of the cot and ignoring the grumbles of complaint as he shut the door behind them. “I’d fully understand if you’ve changed your mind.”

“Idiot.” Those big hands descended on his shoulders and gripped him firmly. “What brought that on?”

Athos shrugged. “Raoul’s a full time job. I won’t be available for nights out on the tiles.”

“I reckon you’ve done a lifetime’s worth of that for the both of us,” grinned Porthos.

“True,” said Athos awkwardly, not wanting to be reminded of his bad behaviour. “But can you be happy with just this?”

Slowly this time, Porthos inclined his head and the kiss that followed was determined and full of love. So much so that Athos was as breathless as a romantic heroine when they eventually broke apart from one another.

“This here is everything I want,” said Porthos. “I’m not a party animal. All I ever wanted was to settle down, and when it turned out that I was gay then having a family of my own seemed pretty distant on the horizon.”

“So what you’re saying is you just want me for my baby?” smirked Athos.

“Yeah,” said Porthos, pushing Athos back against the wall and stroking a slow path down his side from rib cage to thigh. “The only thing I’m thinking about right now is being momma to your son.”

His laughter was contagious and Athos joined in with it, the look in those emotive brown eyes all the reassurance he needed. 

They kissed again, soft and sweet, wrapped up in each other, their bodies pressed intimately together. It was timeless, an unhurried build up of pleasure that left Athos both comforted and aroused in equal measure. 

“The other thing I’m thinking,” said Porthos, moving back a little. “Is that those cheese toasties I made will be getting bloody cold by now.”

“Then we’ll have lunch,” said Athos, taking hold of Porthos’ hand and squeezing it, the way he’d wanted to when they’d been walking back from the coffee shop.

Settled snugly on the sofa, tight up against Porthos’ side, Athos had never felt safer or happier. They ate their sandwiches, the gruyère only slightly rubbery, and watched an old comedy Christmas special on one of the satellite channels.

“Did you get that part you wanted?” asked Athos, feeling terrible for not asking before.

Porthos shook his head and leaned back, draping an arm around him. “Nope. I ended up being second choice as always, which is good because the last thing I want to do right now is leave France.”

“I’m relieved,” admitted Athos and they kissed again, not giving a damn about the grease and crumbs from the croques monsieur. 

“I have to go to London for a few weeks in the New Year,” said Porthos. “Is that okay?”

“Everything you do is okay,” replied Athos, his happiness levels at a record high. “Especially this,” he added, instigating yet another round of kissing.

Having Porthos here like this was the best feeling in the world. They fitted perfectly, mouths and bodies connecting, and anxious for more, Athos inched his hand downward on a path of discovery to press against the stiffening bulge in Porthos’ jeans. The fact that he was the cause of this arousal added to his own excitement and he tugged impatiently at the zipper, his fingers wandering inside the opening to explore.

“We _can_ take things slow,” said Porthos carefully. “I don’t expect anything of you.”

Heart hammering loudly in his ears, Athos took hold of Porthos’ hand and moved it to cover his own cock. “Good to know,” he said with a twist of the lips. “But _slow_ is the last thing on my mind right now.”

Letting loose this whimper of need, Porthos straddled Athos and began to unfasten the buttons on his shirt. “You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that,” he growled.

“I could hazard a guess,” said Athos, more than ready for some lessons in debauchery.

Leaning forward, Porthos kissed his way up Athos’ neck, teasing at both pulse points until Athos was on fire, hips jerking helplessly as Porthos thumbed at his nipples. His reaction to the foreplay was so intense that much more of it and he’d come on the spot.

“Gorgeous,” said Porthos, leaning back and just gazing at him, wetting his lips as Athos squirmed impatiently beneath him. Sitting up a little, he scrabbled with buttons and buckles and zippers, fighting to free them both from the infuriating clothes that were getting in their way. But then, just as he was about to make first contact, there came a wail from the baby’s bedroom.

“Oh no,” groaned Athos, bucking against Porthos’ hand. “Please no, Raoul. Not now.”

As still as statues they waited, Porthos’ cock pushing free of his underpants, his hand about to curl around Athos’ erection.

The single cry turned into another and another and finally there came an earsplitting wail of annoyance at being ignored. 

“He’ll go back to sleep,” said Athos.

“Will he?” asked Porthos.

Athos shook his head ruefully. “Not a chance, I’m afraid.” He looked at his watch. “It’s time to go visit the penguins.”

“Is that a euphemism?” asked Porthos with a grin, clambering off Athos’ knee. 

“Not that I’m aware of,” said Athos as he fastened his jeans, looking ruefully at the sticky state of his boxers and his neglected cock. “I know that being gay has a lot of innuendos I need to learn, but I doubt that’s one of them.”

“I’ll teach you everything,” said Porthos, kissing him softly and letting their tongues glide together, just for a moment.

The baby began to yell insistently and Athos removed himself from temptation with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“We’ll make up for it later,” said Porthos, pecking him on the lips and sorting out their clothes. “Can I go get Raoul now?”

“Of course,” said Athos, more than happy to relinquish the task as he relaxed back into the sofa cushions with an air of contentment. No matter how many interruptions they’d have to endure, it would be worth it in the end.

Watching Porthos romp around with Raoul was a joyful experience. Both of them up on all fours, Porthos was trying to encourage the baby to crawl whilst Raoul was laughing at him and shunting back and forwards without getting anywhere.

“You have to move your legs, silly,” said Porthos, collapsing forward in mock despair as Raoul batted at his head with a little fist. “You’re a bully.” Porthos rolled onto his back and swung the baby above him. “A very cute bully, but a bully no less.”

Leaving them to it, Athos puréed some carrots. The sounds of play from the other room was music to his ears and he took his time making Raoul’s dinner. Normally he’d be running around like a headless chicken, trying to get everything done whilst lugging around a grumpy child.

“Thank you,” he said when Porthos fastened Raoul into baby seat and tied a bib around his neck. “It’s easier with two. Not so much juggling involved.” 

Earlier, as a joke, he’d accused Porthos of wanting him for his baby, but did that last sentence sound all too much like he was only after Porthos to help him raise Raoul? If so, that wasn’t the case. He liked Porthos an awful lot. He was quite convinced by now that he loved him, despite the fact it felt nothing like that self defeating obsession he’d had for Anne. Instead, there was something warm and inherently wonderful happening between them, a growing desire that was rooted in friendship.

“Don’t look so scared,” grinned Porthos. “You’re allowed to appreciate a bit of help, and I love to be needed so I ain't gonna get offended.”

“I swear you’re an actual angel,” said Athos, sitting cross legged next to Porthos on the rug then wrapping a hand around the back of his neck in order to pull him in close enough for more of those kisses.

It was only the noisy reminder from Raoul that forced them apart.

“Shhh, Daddy’s busy,” said Athos with a smile.

The baby only shouted louder and Porthos laughed. “Get some food into the squawk box and then we can go see these penguins,” he said and he may have been full of fun, but the look in his eyes was serious, as if he saw something worthwhile in front of him, and it was enough to make Athos well up with unexpected emotion. “You’re a daft one all right,” added Porthos softly and, resting foreheads together, they shared in the moment.

Once Raoul was topped up and ready to go, kicking his legs excitedly in the buggy and impatient to be off, they set out on their walk.

“He gets tetchy if the weather’s bad and we have to stay in,” said Athos as they carried the pushchair down the steps. “So we go out most days now unless there’s a hurricane forecast.”

“Dadada,” agreed Raoul, leaning over to wave his fist at a passing Spaniel who was out for a walk with his owner.

“Dog,” said Athos automatically. He hadn’t had anyone to chat to for a while so had become a narrator of his own life.

“Da,” chuckled the baby. “Dada.”

“I was over the moon when he first said it,” said Athos. “Now I’m getting a bit fed up of hearing dadada all day long.”

“Liar,” said Porthos. “I can see how much you love it.”

They strolled down by the river and then on into town, stopping off to look at the big Christmas tree in the Place de la Concorde and then heading for the markets.

“These are the infamous penguins,” said Athos as they stopped in front of a toy shop window.

This time it was Porthos who crouched next to Raoul, making up stories about each one of the dancing birds. It was so adorable to watch that Athos thought his heart was in danger of bursting, and he was left with no choice but to ask the question that had been on his lips all day.

“Do you have anywhere to go for Christmas?” he said hesitantly.

“I usually rock up at my foster parents’ place on Christmas Eve,” Porthos replied, looking at Athos. “But this year I was kind of hoping I’d get to spend it with my two favourite de la Fère men.”

Athos flushed with pleasure, but didn’t want to seem too forward. “Raoul and I would love that, but if you already have plans then I understand.”

“Annette and Guillaume always have a houseful. They won’t miss me.”

“I’m sure they will,” said Athos, teasing his fingers into Porthos’ hair. “I know I’m not supposed to be as selfish nowadays, but I’m glad you’ll be here with us.”

“Be as selfish as you like over me.” Porthos caught hold of his hand and kissed it, then stood upright. “Can I take you out to dinner?” he said, capturing Athos in the circle of his arms. “Say yes.”

Athos was uncertain. He hadn't yet got around to buying any new clothes for himself, whereas Porthos was always immaculately turned out. He’d be a sad comparison with his long hair and scruffy chinos. “I don’t know,” he said, stumbling around for an escape. “What about the baby?”

Porthos gave him a look. “Rubbish excuse,” he said. “You know that little ones are always welcome in all the restaurants here, and I bet you’ve got at least two bottles, ten nappies and six emergency changes of clothes in that bag.”

Athos smirked. He hated being unprepared and Porthos knew this only too well. “I suppose we could,” he said tentatively. “Although I’m not really dressed for a date.”

Porthos slid an arm around his waist. “You look perfect,” he said in a low voice. “I’m the luckiest bloke alive.”

Athos mumbled something nonspecific in reply. Half a decade ago he’d been a powerhouse of confidence, but Anne had stripped him of that as successfully as she had of his money and self respect. “Sorry,” he added. “I wasn’t always this pathetic.”

Porthos frowned, his brow furrowing. “I don’t know exactly what that ex wife of yours did to you, but whatever it was happened a long time ago so enough of the pity party.” He kissed Athos firmly on the mouth in front of a horde of shoppers. “I like you just as you are, Athos de la Fère. You’re gorgeous and you’re brilliant fun to be with. At least you are when you're not wallowing around in misery, so snap out of it and let's go and get some dinner.”

People were staring at them and Athos discovered to his surprise that he didn’t give a damn. “You’re an evil sod,” he laughed. “But I love you for it.” He considered his words for a moment and then simplified matters. “I love you.”

“Bloody hell.” Porthos held on tightly to Athos, face buried against his shoulder. “Talk about _me_ being a sod, you really pick your moments. I love you too. I love everything about you, even when you're being a miserable bastard. Especially then maybe. I don’t know. Fuck, what have you done to me? I’m so happy right now I could cry.”

“Me too,” muttered Athos. “And PDA’s are my least favourite thing in the world. If we stay like this for a while do you think everyone will go away?”

“How about we be all nonchalant about it?” suggested Porthos, laughing but still choked up from the ambush of emotion. “Let’s pretend none of that happened in public and talk to Raoul about the penguins instead.” 

Oblivious of any romantic declarations happening over his head, the baby was still chattering away to himself and flapping his arms at the animatronic birds.

“I think I’ll employ one as a nanny,” smirked Athos as he and Porthos smiled at each other across the pushchair.

The bistro Porthos picked for dinner was typically him. It was cosy and stylish with a Bohemian atmosphere and staff who were helpful, but not overbearing. They brought over a high chair for Raoul to sit in which pleased the baby greatly and he was more than happy to laud it over everyone and throw his toys at passing waiters.

“Did you bring Aramis here?” asked Athos, his lips tugging upwards at the look of sheer embarrassment on Porthos’ face. “I’m fully aware you dated people before me.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird when you actually know one of them,” said Porthos topping up their glasses from the bottle of red. “We did come here once, but it wasn’t his kind of place. He prefers things a bit posher.” He let his eyes linger over Athos. “Even if I hadn’t already been crazy about you back then, me and him would never have worked as a couple.”

“Why?”

“Not very compatible,” said Porthos with a shrug. “You know how it is.”

Athos was intrigued enough to ask a really personal question. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Christ!” Porthos laughed. “It’s easy to tell your chosen profession, mate.”

Athos smirked. He rarely skirted around a point that needed to be made.

“Yeah, I did sleep with him a couple of times,” continued Porthos. “And no, we weren’t that compatible in bed either. He was over the top romantic, quoting poetry at me all the time. He was also a bit of a pushy sod.”

“I might be pushy too,” said Athos draining his glass. “In fact I’m going to be pushy enough to ask you to spend the night with me.”

“Already planning on it,” said Porthos, his voice descending into a deep rumble as he reached across the table for Athos’ hand. “Where’s our bloody food, Claude?” he demanded, looking around at the maître d’ with a beaming grin on his face. “We’re in a hurry over here.”


	10. Chapter 10

Bed was a place of wonder and, in it, Porthos an undiscovered land waiting to be explored. To say that Athos enjoyed himself was an understatement. Making out for a long time, they then stripped each other slowly, the touching that followed a natural and delightful progression. Porthos was a gentleman in all ways, giving Athos as much time as he needed to learn new skills. 

How to use his mouth was one of them, dotting Porthos with tentative kisses at first, then gradually expanding his repertoire until he was crouched between muscular thighs, his hand wrapped around that big cock as he sucked on it with languid pleasure, drinking down the result of his experiments with relish.

“Next time, could you come on me?” he asked as Porthos wriggled down the bed, eager to reciprocate. “I think I’d like that… oh, oh my god, that's so incredibly good.” 

What Athos really liked was having Porthos go down on him. More forceful than any of the women he’d been with, Porthos knew exactly how to please another man, the tickle of his beard adding a new dimension all of its own. 

“Fuck,” he cried as he came into Porthos’ mouth, his fingers tangled into those wayward curls.

They were still making love when Raoul woke the first time, the edge of their appetite taken off, but both ready for more as they worked their way towards another climax.

“Hold that thought,” said Athos as he climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

He was surprised when Porthos joined him in Raoul’s room, watching protectively as he sat in the chair, giving the baby his bottle and humming softly to him. He was also surprised when he looked up and saw how overwhelmed Porthos was by this quiet moment. He was used to the nighttime rituals by now, and yet always found them a comfort. Raoul woke frequently, but was rarely bad tempered for long, happy enough to snuggle back down once he was changed and fed.

“I suppose it gets to me because I never had this,” explained Porthos as they crept out of the nursery and closed the door. “You’re lovely with him.”

“So are you,” smiled Athos as he got undressed and climbed into bed. He reached for Porthos and pulled him into his arms, the cuddles more important right now than anything else. 

“But you’re his dad. He sees you and his little face lights up,” said Porthos. “He loves you and you love him.” He rolled onto his back. “I wish I’d had that.”

“I had a nanny who loved me,” said Athos. “She was nice, but she was let go by my parents when I was seven and it was time for boarding school. She still writes to me at Christmas and birthdays.”

“Kind of like my foster mum,” said Porthos.

“We’re the fortunate ones because we had people who loved us, same as Raoul,” said Athos softly. “It doesn’t have to be the right people.”

“We are the right people,” said Porthos in a gruff voice. 

For a long time they held each other, both of them in a contemplative state of being. _This_ was the life changing moment for Athos. A self awakening when he began to understand exactly how important this was. Love wasn’t a greedy desire to possess; it was wanting to give more than take. It was about sharing as well as caring. Love was that warmth he felt when he gazed at his son. Love was the wave of sheer happiness that rocked him when Porthos walked into a room. 

It could so easily have gone wrong.

“You’re very quiet,” said Porthos. “Feeling sleepy?”

Athos shifted about until his head was resting on Porthos’ chest. “Feeling thankful actually,” he said. “For having you and Raoul in my life.”

“Always,” said Porthos, twisting them around in the bed until Athos was on his back and being peppered by kisses. “We’re an always thing. I’ve decided.”

Braced on an arm, he wrapped a hand around both their cocks, and using this and the steady thrust of his body he pushed Athos to new heights.

“I want you inside me,” said Athos, looking up at Porthos with searching eyes. He’d not thought about it until now, but the idea of being filled by this man was blissful. Essential even.

“I promise you we’ll get around to that,” said Porthos, kissing him on the mouth. “But it’ll take a while to get you ready and we’ll need more than a sachet of lube. How about you fuck me instead?”

Athos swallowed down a sudden rush of desire. For some reason, he’d never thought Porthos would want him in that way. “I’d like that,” he said. “Very much indeed.”

“So polite,” chuckled Porthos as he rolled onto his back. “Do you ever forget your manners?”

Athos narrowed his eyes. “Laugh at me once more and I’ll leave you begging for the rest of the night.”

“Not laughing,” said Porthos, hand over his heart as Athos paused, his mouth an inch from the tip of Porthos’ cock. “Swear to god.”

“Behave yourself and I’ll carry on.” 

“I promise.”

Dipping his head Athos began to suck gently, letting Porthos coat his hand with lube and guide him lower until his fingers were ready to explore. He enjoyed taking instruction, learning the intricacies of Porthos’ body. How to stretch him then tease him to fever pitch with a crooked finger. How to have him plead for more once they were finally joined. 

If it hadn’t been for the condom Athos would have come the moment he was buried inside Porthos, but at the very last second he managed to pull back from the brink and from then on it became the most exciting ride of his life. 

Porthos was a patient teacher, showing Athos how he liked to be touched, a gentle tease to his cock at first, building up to fierce strokes as he approached climax. 

“I want to see you come,” said Athos, letting Porthos take over with his own hand then fucking him hard as he brought himself off in thick, beautiful streaks. 

The sight of it, the feel of it was too much and Athos hid his face, sucking bruises onto sweat damp skin as he shuddered out an orgasm that was something close to a religious experience. Afterwards, lying spread-eagled across Porthos, the two of them plastered together in a sticky mess, he let out a long lasting sigh of contentment.

“Experiment went okay then?” said Porthos.

“More testing required,” murmured Athos, a hand between his legs as he removed the condom, summoning just enough energy to knot it and hurl it in the direction of the bin.

“Definitely some thorough research needed,” agreed Porthos. Wriggling free, he lay on his side, braced up on an elbow. “You did like it though?” he asked in a voice that was much smaller than usual and rather solemn with it.

“I did,” smiled Athos, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. “Sleep now and I’ll prove how much in the morning.”

He began to doze off, an arm wrapped tightly around him and a gruff voice in his ear explaining that not all men liked everything about gay sex and that he should never feel pressured into doing things he wasn’t comfortable with.

“I love you, Porthos,” he said, partly to shut the big man up, but mostly because it was true. “Now please be quiet.”

“Again with the manners,” laughed Porthos. “I love you too, darling.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter today due to number blindness and an attack of the stupids. Last one for a few days as I have people visiting the house on the sheep covered, rain soaked hill. <3

Raoul being more obliging than usual, they had time for several hours of sleep and then a shower together, which was another new experience for Athos. Anne had never wanted that level of intimacy and, all too often, his one night stands had ended in a sudden departure which was riddled with embarrassment on both sides. This was lovely and he made the most of it, shampooing Porthos’ hair then soaping every inch of his body until his cock was standing proud whilst the rest of him leaned bonelessly against the tiles, hips thrusting as he came hard over Athos.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked as he collapsed into Athos’ arms.

“It’s something I’m practiced at,” laughed Athos. “My own gets abused fairly often in the shower.”

“My turn to do some abusing,” said Porthos, his hand curling around Athos’ cock as he pulled him off in a steady rhythm, studying everything about him as he did so.

The baby began to cry intermittently from the nursery and Athos jerked, ready to spring into action. 

“He’ll wait for a while,” said Porthos in a low voice. “You’re so bloody close, I can see it. Your eyes are much darker than usual and your muscles are all tense. You look incredible.”

Relinquishing any semblance of control, Athos leaned against Porthos, head thrown back as he thrust himself into that big fist.

“So good,” he groaned.

“That’s it, my love.”

Porthos’ voice was a low rumble in his ear, the key that unlocked his orgasm.

“That’s it, come all over me.”

If it hadn’t been for the arm around his waist Athos would have fallen, his climax so strong that it left him drained of everything but happiness. 

“Shower’s running cold. We’d better get out before we freeze.”

Athos blinked and stared up at Porthos in confusion. “What?”

Porthos laughed and encouraged him out of the cubicle. “You don’t need booze. You just need a proper seeing to by me.”

“Full of yourself much,” smirked Athos, patting Porthos dry the same way he would the baby, who had quietened down for now and was probably playing with his toys or his toes, whichever was of most interest to him today.

“Full of _us_ ,” said Porthos. “And very happy with it.”

“I’m happy too,” said Athos, kissing him thoroughly. “Tremendously so, in fact.”

Dressed in underpants and bathrobes, the two men pottered around doing the mundane morning tasks that, today, seemed wonderfully out of the ordinary. They met back in the bedroom, Porthos armed with coffee and croissants and Athos lugging a baby, who in turn was doing his own bit by carrying his bottle, trying unsuccessfully to get the teat into his mouth.

“Welcome to breakfast time in the de la Fère household,” said Athos as all three climbed back into bed. “We’re lazy,” he added, a trifle sheepishly. “We enjoy our lie ins.”

Porthos deftly caught the bottle before Raoul threw it across the room and then took the baby from Athos. “You have your brekkie,” he said. “I’ll see to our little man.”

Athos gave Porthos’ hand a quick squeeze in gratitude and then settled down to read his book, a pleasure he rarely found time for nowadays. It proved difficult to concentrate with the sounds of serious breakfasting going on, interspersed with baby babble and sudden bursts of deep laughter. Glancing up, Athos smiled affectionately at his troublemaker son who was up to the usual morning mischief. After gulping down his milk in record breaking time, Raoul had moved on to a piece of croissant and was busy mushing it up and smearing bready goo all over the duvet cover. 

By now Porthos was in fits of laughter at his antics. “How do you cope?” he said, amazed at the amount of devastation caused by one small boy.

“I do a lot of laundry,” said Athos looking up from his book again and picking lumps of wet croissant out of Raoul’s hair. “He has a lot of baths.” He raised an amused eyebrow. “Believe it or not, I was once a neat freak. Never a hair out of place, always dressed to perfection. My entire life revolved around order.”

Porthos chuckled. “And now it’s been replaced by total chaos,” he said, tickling Raoul who giggled and then lobbed the empty bottle at him. “Good shot,” he added. “Right in the schnozz. We’ll make a marksman of you yet, son.”

Giving up on the idea of reading, Athos lay back down and pulled the quilt over himself, watching his favourite boys play together. “What shall we do today?” he asked.

Porthos smiled at him. “I vote we go see our penguins and then have a coffee on the way back at L’Artiste. After that I’m well up for some Netflix and chill.”

“As long as you don’t mind the chill part being constantly interrupted by a certain someone.”

“Adds to the fun, don’t it?” With Raoul trapped safely between them, Porthos leant over for a kiss. “That’s what family life’s all about.”

Family life turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to Athos. After a fraught couple of months, he’d fallen into the stride of parenting and caring for Raoul had become a joy rather than a source of misery, but with Porthos at his side everything was so much better. 

“Not the baubles, no!” shouted Porthos for the hundredth time that morning. 

The combination of twinkly lights and sparkly stuff had been just the incentive Raoul needed to get on the move and now the baby was unstoppable, causing trouble wherever he went. They’d fixed stair gates up at every doorway. All the plug sockets were now protected and even the tables had bouncy bits on the corners to stop him from hurting himself.

“He’s a ticking time bomb today,” said Porthos, walking into the kitchen with his arms full of wriggly baby whose legs were going full pelt as if he couldn’t wait to be off causing mischief. “I think he knows Christmas is happening tomorrow.” He then caught sight of the mess that was covering all the worktops. “What _are_ you doing?” he asked.

“Attempting to make a Bûche de Noél,” replied Athos with a frown.

Porthos strapped Raoul into the high chair and handed him a rusk. “Where have you got up to so far?” he said, kissing the cake mixture from Athos’ cheek. “Mmm, tastes good,” he said, his lips ending up at Athos’ mouth.

This was better than baking, decided Athos as he surrendered to the make out session. He’d happily kiss Porthos all day long, but for once there were other more pressing things on his mind. He wanted there to be a Yule Log for tonight. It was the one thing he remembered from his childhood.

“I’ve weighed everything out and mixed the basic batter. Now I have to add it all together and cook the cake,” he explained. “But it’s hard trying to follow the recipe on Mumsnet and-”

Porthos cackled with glee. “You’re a member of Mumsnet?”

Athos blushed, embarrassed at having revealed his darkest secret. “They’ve been very kind,” he said. “There’s a group of single parents on there who are really helpful.”

“Just when I think you can't get any sweeter.” Porthos picked up the iPad from the worktop and wiped a smear of batter from the surface. “Neat freak huh?”

“I told you I got over that a long time ago,” said Athos, raising an eyebrow. “Now make yourself useful and read me the recipe.”

Before long the cake was cooked and cooling and the chestnut filling was ready to go.

“Yum,” said Porthos, testing it yet again. “That’s some good shit.”

“It does look a lot like the contents of one of Raoul’s nappies,” agreed Athos as he fed the baby spoonfuls of mashed banana.

“Gross.” Porthos pulled a face. “On that note, I’m off to do some present wrapping,” he said as he stole a corner of the cake and dipped it into the filling. 

“Thief,” said Athos, accepting a goodbye kiss as payment. “I’ll see you tonight.”

They didn't wake to snow falling all around them, but instead to a day that was drizzly and warm, the least festive weather in the world. None of that mattered in the slightest though, because as far as Athos was concerned this was a Christmas made in Heaven. 

Both men rejecting the idea of church, they’d spent the previous evening gorging themselves on all their favourite foods and entertaining Raoul who’d enjoyed all the extra fuss, adding a new word ‘pa’ to his vocabulary which Porthos had taken ownership of immediately.

After a late evening walk by the river they’d tucked the sleepy baby into his cot, who was smiling contentedly at the visions of sugarplums which were dancing in his head. As soon as all was quiet they then crept off to bed themselves to indulge in some adult playtime, during which Athos finally got his wish.

Porthos was the most patient man in the world, stretching Athos slowly, talking to him, kissing him, making love to him in every way but one, until he was utterly relaxed and yet strung out with need. 

“Please,” he begged, his voice broken. “Please fuck me. I want _you_ in me, not your fingers.”

“Okay, but tell me if it’s too much.” Spooned together, Porthos pushed into him sucking kisses onto his neck, a hand wrapped around his softening cock.

It did hurt at first, quite a lot in fact, enough even to frighten Athos a little.

“Easy now, darling,” Porthos murmured. “Just relax into it. We’ll give it a little longer, but if it’s not going to work-”

“It will,” breathed Athos. He could already feel a steady thrum of excitement in second place behind the surface layer of pain, and as Porthos shunted his hips it took over the lead. Closing his eyes, he let go of the fear and pushed back, seeking out that pleasure point inside his body, and enjoying the slow restoration of arousal, he clasped his hand over Porthos’ fist, which was still wrapped around his cock, encouraging him to move in all ways.

“Shit,” muttered Porthos, and with a grunt and a thrust of the hips he shuddered and came. “Oh shit,” he said afterwards in a small voice. “Sorry. It was too good.”

Athos, in comparison, was floating. He’d never had that effect on anyone before and it felt amazing. “It was perfect,” he said, easing himself in and out of Porthos’ fist and within a minute he was there, gasping out words of need and love as Porthos brought him off.

“Second time’ll be a lot more perfect than that,” said Porthos in a rough, gruff voice as they lay together in the darkness. “I promise.”

“Not possible,” murmured Athos, cocooned in Porthos’ arms and half asleep already with a permanent smile etched on his face.

Christmas morning transformed the bedroom from its usual chaotic state into something that resembled a landfill site. The floor was strewn with paper, Raoul sliding off the bed in order to play with colouring wrapping and boxes until Athos opened one of his presents from Porthos. It contained an enormous cuddly penguin which the baby fell upon with a squeal of delight, lavishing it with dribbly kisses.

“Genius,” said Athos, a tiny bit annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find one of those?” Porthos was ever so slightly smug when he saw how well his gift was going down. “I had to go to the zoo to get one.”

“You did well,” said Athos, giving him a slow kiss of appreciation.

“I did, didn’t I?” said Porthos, even smugger now as he flipped Athos onto his back and increased the intensity of the kisses.

There was a thump and then a loud wail as Raoul tumbled off the bed and Athos reached down to collect him, cuddling him and soothing him with sing song words that worked like a charm. “Bad daddies, letting you fall down and bump,” he crooned as the crying turned to sobs and then evolved into throaty chuckles of laughter when a penguin, manipulated by Porthos, tickled him with its beak.

“Bath and then breakfast time, I think,” said Athos, reluctantly leaving the sanctuary of the bed. 

An hour later all three men, small, medium and large, were dressed ready for the excitement of spending Christmas Day together.

“You’re spoiling me,” said Porthos as he opened parcel after parcel, getting shiftier by the second with embarrassment. 

The gifts he’d bought Athos were fewer in quantity, yet thoughtful and clever and Athos began to wish that he’d been less extravagant during his last minute shopping spree.

“I’ve never had anyone to buy for before,” he explained, filling a rubbish bag with torn paper. “Anne thought the whole idea was a nonsense--she preferred to choose things for herself--and my parents didn’t go in for that kind of thing.” He wondered now if he’d fallen for his wife because she was so familiar to him. “We can take it all back.”

“Don’t you dare,” growled Porthos, slotting the diamond into his ear and curling protectively around his new iPad and XBox. “Mine. Did I say I didn't like them?”

Together they constructed another of Porthos’ presents to Raoul, again penguin themed but this time battery operated with a line of little birds marching around a track. The baby adored it, despite the fact he kept whacking it with anything he could lay his hands on and then screeching at the top of his little voice for one of them to make it go again.

After dinner Porthos stared out of the window at a mist of grey drizzle. “Not really a day for walking in the park,” he said. “I was thinking of driving over to see Mum and Dad.”

“That’s fine,” said Athos. He could put Raoul down for a nap and tidy the flat and then they’d probably go out for a wander in spite of the rain.

“I’d like it if you both came with me,” said Porthos and he looked hopefully at Athos. “I totally understand if you don’t want to, but I really want them to meet you.”

Quite frankly, the idea of it petrified Athos, but he realised how much this meant to Porthos and at the same time discovered that he would do anything in his power to please him.

“Thank you. Raoul and I would be honoured.”

“They’re gonna love you,” said Porthos, pulling him into a hug and squeezing hard. “Mum always hoped that one day I’d meet a nice, polite boy.”

“Don’t tell them what a slut I am then,” laughed Athos.

“But I love you most when you're all slutty.” Porthos kissed the top of his head. “Oh jeez, that son of yours is making a break for the Christmas tree again.”

Athos scooped up the naughty child and brought him into the huddle. “We’re going to meet Grandma and Grandpa,” he said. “So you’d better be on your best behaviour.”

Raoul looked at him very seriously and then nutted him on the forehead, letting out a loud wail of disapproval. 

“You did it,” laughed Athos.

“Someone's a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic,” said Porthos as he kissed both bumps better.

Dressed in the new clothes Porthos had bought him, Athos grew more and more nervous as he sat in the backseat of the Renault, watching the scenery change from urban to rural. They weren’t far from Piñon right now, a few miles further west and they’d be at his ancestral home. Anne had probably knocked it down by now, or had it turned into luxury apartments.

“You’ve gone all quiet again,” said Porthos, their eyes connecting through the rear view mirror. “Don’t be worried.”

“I’m not,” said Athos, although this was partly a lie. Most people found him too aloof to get along with and he was sure Annette and Guillaume would be no different. “Just thinking about the past. I used to live around here too.”

Porthos’ ears pricked up with interest. “You want to go visit the old homestead?”

“Not really,” said Athos. “Not unless you have a yearning desire to meet my ex wife. She took everything in the divorce settlement.”

“I’ll pass.” Porthos smiled at him. “Don’t want to risk her wanting you back.”

“Highly unlikely,” said Athos, raising an eyebrow. “We’re not on the best of terms.”

Porthos chuckled. “I kind of guessed that already.” As they were nearing the outskirts of a small town, he turned the car into a long driveway that led up to a ramshackle old house that was shabby but delightful and festooned with gaudy Christmas lights. 

“It’s lovely,” said Athos, who had the distinct impression that he was about to meet the Weasleys.

“You’d never accuse my folks of subtlety,” said Porthos as he opened the boot and took out a bag of presents whilst Athos unfastened the carry seat.

The welcome on the doorstep was loud and long lasting as Porthos hugged a football squad of family, who ranged in age from kindergartners to young adults. An older couple watched from the sidelines, matching looks of happiness on their faces, and finally unable to wait any longer they barged through the melée in order to greet their son.

“Mum, Dad, this is Athos,” said Porthos proudly as he stepped back from the huddle and tucked his arm around Athos’ waist. “And the mini-him is Raoul.”

In no time at all Athos was hugged half to death and encouraged into the house, children chattering at him nineteen to the dozen, everyone cooing over the baby who was managing to sleep through the cacophony of noise.

“He’s a relaxed little chap,” said Guillaume, bending over to have a good look at the babe. “Porthos says you’ve had a hard time of it, the little one turning up unexpectedly on your doorstep.”

“It’s been an eventful year,” said Athos. “But I wouldn’t be without him.”

“And there’s someone lurking close by who wouldn’t be without either of you,” said Annette, handing him a coffee. 

“Mother,” roared Porthos. “If you embarrass me I’ll kill you.”

“I’m sure Athos already knows how smitten you are,” she said giving him a cheeky wink. “And look, you’ve only gone and woken the baby with all your noise.” She batted Athos’ hands away when he tried to pick up Raoul. “He’s mine today. You go and spend some quality time with my boy.”

Athos found it hard to believe that he'd only known them five minutes. Before long he was sat around the table with Porthos, playing raucous card games with the older members of the family and gambling for matchsticks. Guillaume took care of the littlest ones of the brood whilst Annette was overjoyed to have a baby to fuss over again. It was a wonderful way to spend a Christmas afternoon.

“Come for a wander with me,” said Porthos, after he’d won all the matchsticks in the house. “I want to show you the old place before it falls down.”

“I heard that,” came a gentle baritone from nearby. “You’re always welcome to visit with your toolbox, son.”

“Don’t I always?” replied Porthos. “I bet the porch roof needs patching up again.”

“It does indeed,” said his dad. “But that can wait until Spring. Right now you’re interrupting a very important story.”

Guillaume had taken over babysitting duties, reading the tale of a tiger who came to tea to Raoul who was currently retelling it in his own words during the intermission. 

“I don’t think you need worry about socialising him,” laughed Porthos.

“It’s not shyness that bothers me, so much as a fear of him beating other children up,” admitted Athos. Raoul was a very rambunctious child and though happy, often used his fists to prove a point.

“He’s a baby,” laughed Porthos, grabbing his hand. “He’s fine. Come on, let’s go see the ducks before it gets too dark.”

Athos’ first thought was that Raoul would love to see them too, but he immediately dismissed the idea. There’d be plenty of time for that on other visits. This was the first opportunity he and Porthos had been given to spend a little time alone together and he wasn’t going to miss out on that by being a clingy parent.

The drizzle had diminished until there was nothing left of it but a vague wetness in the air and although it was far from cold, Athos pressed himself into Porthos’ side, leaching comfort but pleasantly surprised to discover that he no longer needed to borrow any strength. He hadn’t felt this positive about himself for a number of years, perhaps ever. Technically, he was more of a failure now than when he’d been married to Anne, but whereas she had constantly belittled him, Porthos made him feel like Superman, complete with cape.

“I really like being in love with you,“ he said as they looked out across lily pads and reeds.

“it’s good innit,” agreed Porthos with a low rumble of contentment. 

“I have one more present for you,” said Athos. Now seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject. “It isn’t wrapped up and I haven't sorted anything officially yet because I needed to find out your answer first.”

“Athos?” Porthos’ voice contained an upward inflection of fear.

Athos battled on. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you,” he confessed in a rush of words. “The thing is I own the apartment building and I feel dreadful about you paying rent to me every month, so I want you to have the flat. It would be leasehold of course, but other than that it would be yours.”

“Jesus,” muttered Porthos. “Thank fuck.”

This was not the reaction Athos had been expecting and he glanced sideways, both cautious and curious. 

“What I mean is thank _you_ ,” laughed Porthos. “I- Um- That’s incredibly generous of you and I’m gobsmacked.” He then launched into an explanation. “I’m also bloody relieved because I thought for one awful moment you were about to propose to me.”

Athos blushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh god no. Can you imagine me mumbling my vows at the floor, about to fall headlong into a panic? It would be ludicrous.”

Porthos grinned. “My entire family would be whooping and hollering in the background.”

“And Raoul would be destroying everything he laid his hands on.” Athos looked skyward. “No. That would be a nightmare. Please let’s stay as we are.”

They sat together on a fallen tree trunk by the side of the duck pond, holding hands and enjoying being responsibility free.

“Hang on a minute,” said Porthos, after a while had passed and reality finally sank in. “You can’t just give me a flat. Paris is one of the most expensive places to live in the world.”

His brows were knitted together in worry and Athos cupped his face and kissed him. “I can and I’m going to,” he said. “Whatever happens between us, I want you to have it.”

“Thank you,” said Porthos. “I don’t know what else to say except that I know what’s going to happen and I promise you it’s all good.”

Opting for an alternative method of expression, he hauled Athos into his arms and kissed him so thoroughly that before long they were aching for each other. 

“Mmm,” groaned Athos having temporarily mislaid his speech functions, but when Porthos reached for his belt buckle he inched away. “Not here,” he said with a determined shake of the head. No matter how much he wanted Porthos, it would be disrespectful to Annette and Guillaume to take advantage of their kindness in such a way. “We can wait until we’re home.”

“You need to stop being such a nice boy,” muttered Porthos as he pulled him into a long lasting hug. “I’m turning into a sentimental pillock and it's all because of you.”

After a final stroll around the garden they returned to the crowded living room. 

“Perfect timing,” said Annette. “Someone needs changing.”

“I’ll do it,” said Porthos as he took Raoul from his mum and then pulled a face. “Bloody hell, I didn’t know it was that kind of nappy.”

Leaving Porthos to deal with the fallout, Athos followed Annette into the kitchen, pouring out glasses of sweet Sauternes to go with the cakes and pastries she was plating up -- the local patissiere’s finest Noél selection.

“How long have you looked after Porthos?” he asked as he put the cork back into the wine bottle.

“He came to us when he was nine,” said Annette, dishing up the last of the mille feuilles. “He’d been in and out of children’s homes since he was six and when they told us his history I was certain he was going to be difficult. The social worker brought him for a first visit with us and he was big and awkward, so shy he’d barely say a word, but then he began to play with the other little ones who lived here at the time and I knew that, despite everything he’d been through, he had the kindest of hearts. From then on he was our boy and he always will be.”

“I can see that,” said Athos.

“He left when he was young to follow his acting dreams, but he knew he’d always have a home here.” Annette looked up, her face decorated with icing sugar and a sweet smile. “And now he has his own little family.”

“He does,” said Athos, picking up one of the overloaded trays and almost buckling under the weight of the food. “And he always will have.”


	12. Chapter 12

The two men spent that no man’s land week, which lay in between Christmas and New Year, coasting on a tidal wave of happiness. Nights may have been interrupted by demands from the smallest member of the household, but they still managed a massive amount of exploration between the sheets, catching up on nap times whenever Raoul conked out. 

The weather was much improved now that the big day was over and their afternoons were taken up with walks as they explored the lesser known districts of Paris, finding interesting shops and new places for Raoul to play. They even took a trip to Disneyland and though Athos loathed it for its carefully constructed appeal, he loved to watch Porthos holding Raoul up so he could wave madly at the all the ridiculous characters in the parade. 

“Smile,” said Porthos as he took a photograph of Athos, Raoul and Pluto.

“I’m trying,” replied Athos through gritted teeth. “This is the best I can manage.”

He enjoyed it most when the three of them wandered, without purpose, through the parks and squares of the city, taking Raoul into the museums when he was in a good enough mood not to disturb the other visitors.

Today they were in the Musée d’Orsay and Athos was taking his role of parent very seriously as they wandered around the different galleries, examining the works of his favourite artists in detail.

“There’s no point telling him the history of every painter.” Porthos shook his head in amusement at Athos who was hunkered down next to the pushchair, explaining Manet’s use of colour to the baby. “He won’t have a clue what you’re on about.”

“They say on Mumsnet that children are like sponges.”

“Athos?”

Coldness filtering through him, Athos’ first reaction at the sound of that clipped voice was to grab the buggy and Porthos then make a swift run for it. Five, nearly six years had gone by and he hadn’t set eyes on her once, except in the newspapers. Why now?

Standing to full height he stared at his ex wife, focus unwavering as he held her gaze. “Anne.”

She smiled, moving towards him with feline grace. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Likewise,” said Athos not giving an inch. “This is my partner Porthos and our son Raoul.” He turned to Porthos, both eyebrows raised as he attempted to convey how unhappy he was with the situation. “Porthos, I’d like you to meet my ex wife Anne.”

“Pleasure,” said Porthos shaking her hand and frowning as he eyed her up and down. “Hang on a minute, aren’t you Milady de Winter?”

“I am indeed.” Her laughter was a musical sound. “Has Athos never mentioned me at all?” She smiled fully, revealing the gap in her teeth that Athos had once found so appealing. It did nothing for him now. “How typical. He also didn’t get around to telling me he was bisexual.”

“I wasn’t aware of it at the time,” said Athos with a shrug.

Her demeanour softened. “Come and have a coffee with me,” she said, glancing at her watch. “For once, I have no engagements to go to later so it’s a perfect time to catch up.”

“Is there anything to catch up on?” Athos was dubious. They were old news, as historic as the paintings hanging on the surrounding walls.

“I’m sure Marie would like to know how her son is doing,” said Anne. “And I’d love to hear about your new life.”

“I wouldn’t mind finding out exactly what goes on behind those political doors,” said Porthos with a grin. “Go on, love. We’ve got time for a quick cuppa.”

“If we must,” said Athos, adopting an air of indifference, although to be honest it wasn’t a terrible idea. When Anne had transformed into Milady she’d become an ogress in his mind, and to find out that she was in fact an ordinary woman seemed a good way of redirecting all that stagnant water until it was moving downstream, away under the bridge.

As they took the lift up to the first floor café, Athos stepped back a little, letting Porthos and Anne lead the conversation. He had no desire to discuss old acquaintances, or rake up contentious issues from the past and was happy to remain silent.

Ordering three coffees from the waitress they sat down at a table in the window and as Athos lifted Raoul out of the buggy, Porthos went to fetch a high chair.

“You’re a proper family,” said Anne, reaching out to Raoul who made a grab for her rings, fascinated by the sparkle.

“We are,” replied Athos. “Although it’s still quite new. We’ve only known each other properly since Raoul came to live with me. Before then, we were neighbours that passed in the hallway.”

“He’s a darling,” said Anne, a little wistfully.

Athos laughed. “Who?” he asked. “Porthos or Raoul?”

“Both, I’m sure,” said Anne, as she reclaimed her hand from the baby. “He’s just like you. I can’t see anything of Marie in him.”

Raoul squealed as soon as he saw Porthos approaching with the chair, holding his arms up in readiness as Porthos strapped him in and handed him a cup of water from the bag, a spill-less upgrade this time. They’d learnt their lesson after one too many impromptu showers.

“I still can’t believe you never told me who your ex was,” said Porthos as he sat down to join them.

Athos shrugged. “I didn’t see the point. I didn’t foresee us bumping into one another.” He turned to Anne. “Where’s Richelieu? I thought you’d be spending Christmas with him and his cats in the country.”

“Armand is old news,” said Anne with the slight moue that Athos remembered as her habitual expression of distaste. “His ideas are behind the times and out of step with popular opinion. I intend to become the next leader of the Republicans.”

Athos raised an amused eyebrow. He knew she had ambition, but he was never aware of how far reaching it was. “And does Richelieu know this?” 

“Not yet,” said Anne. “But he will once the candidate list is released. I have strong support from inside the party.”

“So, in a couple of years you might be running for president?” said Porthos.

“I shall,” said Anne. “And I’ll win.”

“You have a habit of getting what you want,” said Athos, remembering the callous way she’d trampled over him in the past, using his money and connections and then discarding him when he was spent.

“To get to the top one has to be ruthless,” said Anne.

“But you can only be at the top for so long,” warned Athos. “And the more enemies you make along the way, the steeper the path will be down.”

“Oh I’m certain someone will try and throw me off the mountain once I’m there,” replied Anne nonchalantly. “But I’ll be on the lookout for backstabbers. As you’re fully aware, Athos, we lawyers keep our wits about us at all times.”

“Dadadaaaa,” yelled Raoul, banging his cup furiously on the tray in front of him.

“I think he’s had enough of the political talk,” laughed Porthos. “And I have to say I agree with him.” He paused. “Unless you fancy dishing out some juicy pieces of gossip.”

“And risk my career?” Anne smiled at him. “I don’t think so.”

With rumourmongering and politics scratched from the topic list, they chatted instead about inconsequential matters, all four of them remarkably relaxed considering the odd circumstances, and before long Anne was ready to go, smoothing down her couteur suit and schooling her features into something slightly harder.

“You have a lovely family, Athos,” she said as she was leaving. “I’m glad to see that things have finally worked out for you.”

Had she been keeping tabs on him all this time? The thought initially made Athos uncomfortable, but then he remembered that it was Anne who’d turned him into a shell of a man with Porthos the one to rebuild him, and in doing so discovered that he couldn’t care less what she thought of him.

“I’m happy, healthy and better off without you,” he said with a slight twist of the lips.

“I’m sure you are,” agreed Anne, kissing him on the cheek in farewell as both men stood to see her go. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Porthos,” she said offering the big man her hand.

Porthos kissed it gallantly. “And you, Milady. Good luck with the presidency and all that,” he said.

“Shhh.” She touched a finger to her lips. “It’s our secret for now,” she added and after a final glance at Raoul she sashayed off towards the lift.

“Honestly, Athos,” said Porthos after she’d gone. “You could have told me you were married to Milady de Winter.”

“Why?” said Athos confused.

“Because she’s like a superstar in the world of politics.”

Athos shrugged. “To me she’ll always be an overly ambitious cunt.”

“Politicians,” said Porthos with a grin. “All the same.”

“Now can we please forget about Anne and enjoy the rest of the afternoon.” Athos picked up Raoul and the changing bag. “They have some works here by Bazille which are absolutely stunning.”

“You may have been married to a woman,” growled Porthos. “And I may have taken a class or two in ballet, but you are _so_ much gayer than me.”

Departing for the toilets, his arm clamped tightly around a wriggling baby, Athos flicked a middle finger in the direction of his partner.

“Mind your manners,” retorted Porthos. “What on earth would Nanny say if she saw you behaving like that?”

Laughing, Athos carried the baby into the changing area, wiping the table and then laying Raoul down on the portable mat.

“No crawling off,” he warned. “You know the rules.”

Raoul chuckled at him and tried his best to get away.

“Be good or I’ll give you back to your mama,” said Athos and it was just a flippant remark but it started him thinking, imagining how he would have coped trying to co-parent with Marie, or worse still, the disaster it would have been if Anne had fallen pregnant when they were married. No, he’d definitely won the lottery with Porthos.

When he returned to the table, his jackpot prize was looking at him strangely.

“What?” he asked, as he strapped Raoul into the buggy and tucked the changing bag underneath. “You want more cake before we go?”

“I’ve just realised something,” said Porthos, his eyes wide. “You told Milady that Raoul was _our_ son.”

“I did,” said Athos. It had fallen naturally from his lips. Porthos had been there for them since the beginning. “Was that wrong?”

“No,” said Porthos, stepping in close to fold him into one of those enormous bear hugs. “In fact it was about as far as you can get from wrong. Thank you so much.”


	13. Chapter 13

Athos paced the living room floor, back and forth, back and forth, until he could barely feel his feet. This was the worst night of his life. Worse than when Raoul had been sick. Worse even than when he’d got drunk and ended up in hospital.

“He’ll be fine,” said Porthos, emerging from the bathroom, dressed only in the smallest of towels.

Normally this would have been of huge interest to Athos, but not today. Not when his head was full of imaginary disasters and screaming babies. Avoiding Porthos as he attempted to go in for a hug Athos looked up, feeling guilty on top of panicked. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Only the last time I left him, well, you know what happened.”

“Raoul will be fine with my parents and you’ll be fine with me,” said Porthos. “I won’t let you get drunk and shag any barely legal boys on the stroke of midnight.” 

Athos spluttered with outrage. “D’Artagnan was way past the age of consent.”

“That’s better,” chuckled Porthos. “Now go put your glad rags on. These tickets weren’t easy to get hold of and we don’t want to miss out on the fancy cocktails.”

He’d managed, via an actor friend, to wangle some freebies to one of the top New Year events in Paris, and he was so excited about meeting all the A-listers that Athos pushed his worries to one side and headed for the shower.

With his hair cut shorter, yet still retaining that floppy fringe to hide behind, he resembled his old self and it felt good to put on a white shirt and the suit trousers that Porthos had persuaded him to buy for the occasion. Tying his bow-tie, he fixed cuff-links into place and then put on his dinner jacket. His sock drawer turned out to be empty and carrying a pair of dress shoes to the kitchen he rummaged through the clean washing.

“Why do they never match?” he complained to himself. “Even when all of them are black.”

“Here, I’ve got a new pair you can have,” said a voice from behind him.

Athos turned around to see Porthos looking drop dead gorgeous in his perfectly fitted tuxedo, but it was the expression on his face that had an immediate effect on Athos’ cock.

“You are abso-fucking-lutely perfect like that.” Porthos strode over to push Athos back against the kitchen cupboards. Taking hold of Athos’ hand, he pressed it against the crotch of his suit trousers. “Look what you do to me,” he said in a gruff voice.

“Likewise,” said Athos, canting his hips forward shamelessly to show Porthos the evidence.

Porthos looked at the watch Athos had given him for Christmas and grumbled in frustration. “We’re late already. No time.”

Athos was pleased. There was nothing he enjoyed more than a little pleasure denial to spice things up. “I’m sure we’ll find a quiet corner somewhere during the evening,” he said, licking a path along the seam of Porthos’ lips and then hooking him in order to kiss him thoroughly.

“Tease,” growled Porthos, catching him in his arms and extending the kiss. “God, do I love you. Now hurry up and get your shoes and socks on. The taxi’ll be here in a minute.”

Sure enough, not thirty seconds later, Porthos received a text from the driver and set forth on a mission to chivvy Athos out of the building.

“I don’t know that I have everything,” he complained as he was shoved bodily into the back of the cab.

“The only thing you’re missing is a small bundle of trouble and he’ll be having a whale of a time with his grandparents,” said Porthos as he climbed in next to him. “Tonight, you're all mine.”

Porthos then told the driver where they wanted to go, chatting to him about parties that were going on in the city and how busy he’d be, and the deep pitch of his voice was a comfort, causing Athos to relax. His worries weren’t solely focused on Raoul. Nights out in the past had been nerve wracking occasions, always on the hunt for the right acquaintances to give him the buzz he needed to cope, but going somewhere with Porthos was already proving to be a very different experience.

As the taxi pulled up outside Silencio, Athos handed over the fare, plus a large tip, to the driver and then clambered out of the taxi, with Porthos shuffling across the seat behind him. 

Paris was the cool place to be this New Year and the paparazzi were massed, hoping to get the usual before and after shots of celebrities, all of them chasing that one big shocker of the evening which would send the tabloids into a feeding frenzy and had the potential to bring in a five, perhaps even a six figure sum.

“We don’t have to stay long,” muttered Porthos. “I’m beginning to think I prefer the Louvre to this.”

“I was wondering if we could pick up Raoul and then go to the zoo tomorrow,” said Athos, embarrassed by the sad topic of conversation. It wasn’t really the time to be planning such dull things.

Porthos, however, seemed to disagree. Smile returning full force, he squeezed Athos’ hand. “Now that’s what I call a plan.”

With the ranks of photographers taking pictures of them as they went in, just in case they turned out to be famous, the whole night was star-studded and surreal. 

“I hope these aren’t fakes,” said Porthos under his breath as he handed the tickets over to one of the bouncers. “Otherwise we’ll look like a right pair of plonkers.”

“It seems as though we actually belong here,” replied Athos as they were permitted entry, and collecting two champagne cocktails from a passing waiter he handed one to Porthos.

“I dunno about that,” said Porthos. “To be honest, I feel like a fish out of water. I served drinks at these kind of events sometimes. It was a trick all the drama students used to try and make contacts. Never bloody worked.”

Not one to be star struck, Athos found himself staring at the armies of top Hollywood actors that were out on show. It was, in itself, a kind of zoo.

“Let’s dance,” said Porthos, swilling down his fizz and returning the glass to a tray.

“I don’t really,” said Athos, disposing of his own cocktail in similar fashion.

“Then I’ll teach you,” said Porthos, his voice deep and husky with a magical quality to it that could persuade Athos to do anything. “I love teaching you stuff.”

Transfixed, Athos followed him to the dance floor. As relaxed as he’d ever been at any social occasion, he let Porthos guide him in all his favourite moves. 

“You’re a natural,” said Porthos, his arms resting across Athos’ shoulders.

“I learned some ballroom at school,” admitted Athos, flushing with embarrassment.

“Then it’s your turn to be teacher,” said Porthos.

Forgetting that anyone else existed they moved together, switching off from the club music and working with the beat. Their drink of choice was water and, ignoring everyone around them, they concentrated on each other.

“Got to stop,” said Athos, legs turned to jelly as he propped up the bar for support, unfastening his bow tie and top two shirt buttons. It felt as though they’d been dancing for hours. “I’m shattered.” 

“You’re beautiful,” said Porthos, staring at him, eyes ablaze with fire.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” laughed Athos, knowing without doubt that he was not the handsome one.

Porthos pounced on him, a hand around his neck as he touched their mouths together. The kiss was electric, forceful and determined, and Athos gave in to it, his knees trembling and his cock hard by the time it was over.

“Let’s go home,” said Porthos.

“What about the party?” It was all his partner had been talking about for days.

“Fuck the party.” Porthos grinned. “I’d much rather fuck you.”

Pushing their way past actors--Moretz, Cooper and Butler were names that rung a bell--they hailed a cab back to the apartment building and were home before eleven.

“It’s early,” said Athos. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

“Nope.” Porthos pinned him against the wall, making his wishes very clear. Helpless, Athos thrust against him, moaning as Porthos plastered his neck with kisses and then moved back to his lips.

“I need you,” Athos breathed. “I saw nobody tonight but you.”

They raced each other to the bedroom, falling fully clothed into bed and kissing, kissing endlessly as they tugged at zippers and catches, freeing each other until the important parts were bare and pressed together in a risqué, high fashion editorial.

“Can I fuck you like this?” asked Porthos.

“Feel free.” Athos smirked up at him.

Porthos growled with desire. “On all fours for me.”

Athos obliged with a sense of elation. Still mostly dressed, he was naked in every other way, stripped raw and finally free of his past. Fingers pushed inside him, Porthos sighing out words of love and want, and as hand was replaced by cock, Athos rose to the sensation of being filled, swollen with need as Porthos fucked into him. 

“Beautiful,” murmured Porthos, his lips against Athos ear, a hand reaching for him and pulling hard until he was flying. “Love you so much.”

They were in a state by the time they’d finished round one, immaculate evening dress now a mess of stains and streaks.

“What are we like?” laughed Porthos as he curled possessively around Athos. “Party of a lifetime and all we do is come home early for a screw.”

“Nothing’s ever going to better you.” Athos sat up, stripping Porthos naked of clothes and condom then lavishing every inch of him with kisses. “I can't believe you’re mine,” he said as he came up for air, hands roaming possessively over Porthos’ muscular torso.

“All yours,” said Porthos, beaming up at him. “There’s not a part of me that doesn't have your name stamped onto it.” 

Athos stroked his hand up Porthos’ thighs and huffed with laughter as he watched that cock unfurl and lengthen. “Already?”

“Yep,” laughed Porthos. “And not the only one by the look of things.”

Porthos’ arousal had caused an immediate reaction and Athos spread out next to him, slicking his hand with lube and reaching across to play. This was the perfect way to celebrate any occasion.

They began the next year the way they’d ended the last, indulging in some long drawn out sex that started off in bed and came to a climax in the shower, with Porthos pressed up against the tiles and Athos taking him hard from behind.

“We are bloody amazing,” said Porthos as they completed the come down by lathering up and rinsing each other off. 

Athos could only agree and nodding mutely, his head spinning, dizzy with happiness, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed for the kitchen to heat up croissants and brew espresso. They breakfasted in the usual fashion, sprawled together under the duvet, but this time there was no one bouncing in between them and doing his utmost to tumble off the bed. In fact, Athos was even able to read two chapters of his book.

“I don’t know about this,” said Porthos, ending the sentence with a long sigh. “It ain't the same without our monkey. Let’s go fetch him and take him to see his friends at the zoo.”

Athos discarded his book, kissed Porthos soundly on the mouth and in five minutes was waiting in the hallway, the spare changing bag on his shoulder packed with everything that might be needed for a family day out.

A short while later Annette opened her front door, a very contented baby perched on her hip, and laughed merrily when saw them standing there like a couple of eager beavers on the porch. 

“Dadaddda.”

Raoul was well rested and full of smiles, but he launched himself at Athos as soon as he set eyes on him, clamping chubby arms around his neck and gifting him with slobbery kisses.

“Didn’t the two of you get even a little bit drunk last night?” laughed Annette as she kissed both men hello.

Porthos glanced sideways at Athos. “Only on each other,” he said with a grin. “We had a brilliant time, thanks Mum. The party was crazy and I found out that this one can actually dance, although I bet he’ll deny it in the cold light of day.”

Already shaking his head at this statement, Athos huffed with laughter and breathing in the scent of warm, washed baby, he smiled at Annette. “Thank you for looking after Raoul,” he said. “We’re very grateful.”

“Anytime, Athos,” said Annette. “We love our little grandson.” She pinched Raoul’s cheek. “Don’t we, chicken?”

“Ba,” replied Raoul, scrambling to get back to Annette.

Athos kept a firm hold of him. “You’re a noisy thing today.” The baby’s vocabulary was slowly increasing, although it was a still mostly a string of nonsense. “Porthos and I are taking you to the zoo. I think you’ll enjoy that.”

“They have penguins,” added Porthos.

“Dadada,” said Raoul. 

This time he reached for Porthos who took hold of him, letting out a heartfelt sigh of contentment. “We missed you, little man.”

Athos nodded in agreement. He couldn’t believe how much of a hole there had been in their lives with Raoul absent for just one night. That said, it was also impossible to deny how much he’d enjoyed having some time alone with Porthos and he knew that they must repeat it often for all their sakes. 

Leaving his partner to have coffee with Annette and Guillaume, he took the baby upstairs to change him ready for their day out.

“I’ve discovered that I have separation anxiety,” he laughed as he fastened the tapes and did up the poppers on Raoul’s vest. “You don’t though, do you? You’re a good boy for Daddy.” Raoul chuckled at him and wriggled away as he tried to put jeans and jumper back on. “I love you, baby. Let’s go find Porthos.”

“Babababaaa,” said Raoul, standing up at the bath and reaching for the taps. 

“Don’t grow up too quickly,” said Athos as he picked him up. “You’re our one and only.”

The roads were as quiet as the grave as they headed back to the city, everyone still hiding from the world and nursing their hangovers. Athos thought of previous New Years, waking up in a stranger’s bed, low from too much coke and booze, then creeping away to do the inevitable walk of shame. Horrible. Just the idea of it made him feel physically ill.

“You okay, bae?” said Porthos, glancing at him in the rear view mirror. “Feeling car sick back there?”

“No,” said Athos, shrugging off the bad thoughts. “Just relieved.”

“Your daddy’s a strange man,” Porthos informed Raoul who was busy trying to eat one of his new, indestructible Christmas books. “But luckily for his sake, we love him anyway.”

They parked in one of the public car parks near the zoo which, despite the expense, seemed easier than going back home and making the journey by Metro. Packing the buggy with all the gear needed for the day, they strapped Raoul in and set out on the short walk to the entrance gates, Porthos chattering nineteen to the dozen as they queued up.

“I swear you’re more excited than a three year old,” said Athos.

Porthos’ skin took on a distinctly ruddy tone. “Annette and Guillaume were fantastic parents,” he said, “But there were always so many of us kids living there that we never got to go on trips, except once or twice with the school.”

Athos thought of the countless ski holidays and cruises he’d been on and it was his turn to be embarrassed. Glad that he’d spoiled Porthos rotten with Christmas presents and determined to keep doing the same, he paid their entry fee and, pushing the buggy one handed, he weaved his and Porthos’ fingers together, holding on tightly to his man.

“We’ll go on every trip you want,” he said as they followed the designated route around the park, starting off in the Patagonian zone. “Look, Raoul!”

“He really does love the little critters,” said Porthos as the baby squealed from his pushchair and made grabbing hands at the Humboldt penguins who were performing perfectly, diving into their pond and showing off.

“Da!”

“Yes. They’re real live penguins,” said Athos, crouching down beside the pushchair. “Maybe I should get us season tickets so you can visit them whenever you want.”

It was a good thing that the penguin enclosure was one of the first they came to, because before long the baby was snoozing away, tired out from his holiday weekend of fun. Porthos made up for it, childlike in his enthusiasm and taking hundreds of photos of lemurs and lions and rhinos, most of which would stay on the memory card and never even get looked at.

Once Raoul had woken up, it was a case of nappy changing and bottle warming then shoving spoonfuls of food into a goldfish mouth from the small Tupperware container. They barely had time to scoff down a sandwich each before the baby was whinging, ready to be off again, and by the time they’d zigzagged around the entire park, both men were shattered, too exhausted even for a mooch around the gift shop, although Porthos did pop in quickly to pick up a Raoul sized t-shirt, decorated with a picture of the penguins.

“Not quite the New Year you were planning,” said Athos once they had returned to the car. Raising an amused eyebrow he smiled at his boyfriend who, despite being tired, was still brimming over with excitement.

“Nope. Only about a thousand percent better than I could have hoped for,” said Porthos as he lifted Raoul out of the buggy and kissed him on his grubby cheek. “And as you know, I ain’t prone to exaggeration.”


	14. Chapter 14

“You will be all right?” asked Porthos for the tenth time in an hour. Wrapping his arms around Athos’ waist he pulled him close. “I’ll drop everything if you need me, I swear.”

“I know you will.” Athos laughed and kissed him. “Honestly, Porthos, we’ll be fine. Stop worrying. You’re only away for a month.”

“Yeah, but then I’ve got those bloody auditions afterwards,” said Porthos in a miserable voice. “I don’t want to be an actor. I want to stay at home with you and the bub.”

“One of us has to be employed to demonstrate a good work ethic to our son,” smirked Athos. “And I’m the layabout in this relationship.”

“No fair,” said Porthos, crouching down to say goodbye to Raoul. “You be good for Daddy,” he said, kissing him on the nose. “Any nonsense and I’ll be telling you off over the phone. Bye, little man. “

“Byebye,” replied the baby, waving his little hand frantically. “Paaa.”

“It’s no good,” said Porthos miserably. “I can’t do it”

“They called your flight ages ago, Porthos,” said Athos in a stern voice. “Go now or you’ll miss it.”

“I’ll miss you,” said Porthos, picking up his bags.

“Go.” Pressing a kiss to Porthos’ lips, Athos picked up Raoul and walked away across the concourse before this descended into another of their infamous PDA’s. 

“Byebyebyebye,” chattered Raoul. 

“Shush, baby,” said Athos. “Let’s see if we can find where the car is in that huge car park and then go home and have some lunch.”

When they got back to the flat it felt empty and cold, devoid of its usual sunshine, and with Raoul in his arms Athos immediately walked over to the front window, watching out, the way he had done for months, hoping for a glimpse of Porthos.

“We’re being silly,” he said when Raoul began to wail pitifully. “We have things to do. We need to find a club for us where you can hit the other babies and I can be bored by nappy talk.”

After a month of honeymoon happiness it was hard to adjust to this solitary existence again and, regardless of anything he’d said to Raoul, Athos spent the first day in the doldrums, staring at his phone and waiting for it to ring, then clutching it to him when it did, as if in doing so he could touch Porthos as well as speak to him.

“How’s the hotel?” he asked.

“More of a hostel, but it’s okay,” said Porthos. “At least I get a room to myself unlike some of the others.” He paused. “It would be a lot better if you and the monkey were here.”

“When you get rich and famous we’ll follow you everywhere,” said Athos. “You’ll never be rid of us”

“Good,” said Porthos with a heartfelt sigh.

They talked for a long time until Athos’ face was hot and the baby was demanding service. “I’ve got to go, Porthos,” he said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I s’pose I should learn what lines I have to grunt tomorrow,” said Porthos. “I love you. Kiss the babe for me.”

“I will,” said Athos. “I love you too.”

Once they had disconnected from each other, he spent far too long staring at the phone and then laughed at himself for being a lovesick teenager. 

“Daddy needs to get a grip,” he said, picking Raoul up from his baby seat.

The next day, after some extensive research, Athos took the plunge, and having dressed them both in their nicest clothes, he wheeled Raoul to the community centre for a morning of coffee and painful embarrassment with a bunch of judgmental mums and their offspring, who would doubtless be burdened with nonsensical names like Flowerpot and Xerxes.

As he’d suspected he was the only father present, and after initially eyeing him with suspicion, he was then treated like a very fascinating and unusual exhibit. Answering as few questions as possible, he sat Raoul amongst a group of other babies and kept his eyes fixed on him at all times.

“He won’t vanish, you know,” said a friendly voice with a strong regional accent. “As far as I know there are no convicted child snatchers amongst us.”

Athos glanced at his new companion. She was an attractive woman with dark hair, blue eyes and a kindly smile. At a guess, he’d say she was a good few years younger than him, somewhere in her mid twenties. “I’m more worried that he’s going to hit someone over the head and steal their toys,” he confessed.

“They do that all the time,” she laughed. “These sessions always end in tears. I call it survival of the fittest. I’m Constance Bonacieux.”

“Athos de la Fère,” said Athos. “Pleased to meet you. To be honest, I was terrified that this was going to be one long discussion about which brand of nappies to use.”

“To be honest, it usually is,” she whispered conspiratorially. “That’s why I was so glad to see a new face here today.” There was a wail from the play mat and everyone looked around to see a fat blond boy in designer dungarees looking most upset. “Oops,” laughed Constance. “My Lily’s just hit Lancelot over the head. Let’s grab a coffee before his mum has a go at me.”

There was an art to being a parent in social situations, Athos discovered. Baby watching was essential at all times and conversation was hard to keep going whilst concentrating on that side of things, but eventually he got the hang of it, able to let go enough to have a proper chat with Constance.

“My husband Jacques is much older than me,” she said. “He’s a good man if a bit dull. I do love him, although I might have an affair with a gorgeous young man at some point. I haven’t quite decided.”

“Affairs have consequences.” Athos raised an eyebrow and nodded at Raoul. “He was the result of a one night stand with an old friend.”

“And you share parenting?” asked Constance.

“I have sole custody,” said Athos. “It was too awkward for Marie to bring him up.”

“So you’re managing on your own,” said Constance. “Gosh, that must be hard.”

“I have a partner,” said Athos, “but he’s away at the moment working so Raoul and I are a two man band again.”

“Damn,” said Constance. “That rules you out as my potential affair.”

They both laughed at the lunacy of this because, with no hint of sexual attraction between them, it had been apparent from the start that they were destined to be nothing more than friends.

After a couple more hours of nattering, broken up by endless rounds of nappy changing and feeding, Athos left the group with the definite idea that it was something he could do again. Raoul had enjoyed himself, staring intrigued at all the other babies, unaware, up to this point, that there were other small humans co-existing on this planet alongside him.

“Which way are you walking?” asked Constance. 

“Towards town,” said Athos. “You could come and have lunch at mine,” he suggested as an afterthought. “I could rustle us up an omelette, although Porthos is really the cook in our family. I’ll probably be living off takeaway menus whilst he’s away.”

“That would be fab,” said Constance. “You can tell me more about you and your man.”

From then onwards their friendship grew into something rock solid. With the babies being only a month apart in age, Athos discovered that it was good to have another guiding light in his life who apparently knew what she doing. Constance introduced him into the horrors of soft play and McDonald's restaurants, whilst he took her on a cultural adventure of discovery.

“You’re so posh,” she laughed as they sat outside L’Artiste having a coffee. “I love it. I feel like Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady.”

“God no,” said Athos. “I don’t want to be Henry Higgins.”

“You can’t help being grumpy and well bred.” Constance grinned at him. “Here, hold Lily for me. I need to go for a pee.”

With two babies on his knee Athos wondered what he’d have done if Marie had produced twins and dumped them both on his doorstep. It would have been terrifying. No, he was quite content to follow the Parisian trend and dote on his one beautiful child. 

“All I hear is Constance this and Constance that,” laughed Porthos, during one of their regular nightly phone calls. “Do I need to be worried?”

“Not at all,” said Athos. “We have less of a spark than a used firework. I’m all yours and missing you terribly.”

“Is the baby asleep?” asked Porthos. 

“Out like a light.” Athos adjusted himself in his jeans. Just the sound of Porthos’ voice set him tingling, but the knowledge of what they were about to do next had the blood pumping southward in readiness. “I’m going into the bedroom. I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Good. Imagine me lying next to you and undoing your fly.”

“I’m so pleased you’ve got a room to yourself,” muttered Athos as he tugged down jeans and underpants then wrapped a hand around his cock. “Are you watching porn?”

“Maybe later, but not now,” growled Porthos. “All I need is your voice. Talk me off, babe. Make me come.”

“Okay then, let me think.” Athos breathed in and out slowly, steadying himself as he squeezed firmly at the base of his cock to take the pressure off. He loved these quiet moments of intimacy. “We’re on holiday, somewhere hot with a private beach. There are people jet-skiing and kite surfing in the bay, but I don’t care because all I can think about is you. You’re lying next to me, totally naked and sleepy from sunbathing. I reach out and touch your cock, running my finger over it until it begins to get full and fat. You moan a little and I smile and then lean over to kiss you awake.”

He stopped for a moment, rubbing his thumb over the tip of his cock, lubing himself with the constant drip of fluid.

“Athos.”

“What?”

“I’m still here.”

Lost in his fantasy Athos remembered with a start that there were two of them supposed to be sharing it. Beginning a steady wank he let his mind drift back to that secret beach. “I lick my way down your body. You taste of sunshine and salt and I tease you, kissing everything but your cock until you beg me for more.”

“Please, Athos,” said Porthos from across the channel, though it felt to Athos as if he were right here beside him on the baking hot sand. “I need you.”

“I give in and take you into my mouth, so excited by your flavour that I’m shaking, barely able to stop myself from coming. Changing position I kneel between your legs, sucking you in deep then taking you fully into my throat and it’s so fucking good to have you like this that I have to touch myself. I’m so wet that I don’t need lube or spit and as I go down on you I begin to pull myself off hard. Anyone who’s close to the shore will be able to see us.”

“They won’t be able to stop themselves from watching,” groaned Porthos. “Nine days and we’ll be together again then I’ll fuck you at the airport where everyone can get an eyeful of how gorgeous we are.”

Athos stuttered in a breath and wet his dry lips. “You’re huge in my mouth, thick and long and I gag on you and love it. Love being smothered by you. I pull back just a little and then suck harder. I pull back even further and swirl my tongue around the crown of your cock. I can feel you trembling beneath me as you try to hold on.”

“Please,” begged Porthos. His breath was fast and ragged and Athos could hear the slip slide of cock through fist. “I’m going to come.”

“I tumble us over on the blankets until you’re kneeling astride me then I pull you deeper into me. You know what I need and you begin to fuck my mouth, slow and fierce as I drag my hand over myself and then wank off hard, every part of me on fire as you call out my name.”

“Athos.”

“You come over my face, messing me up, all hot and salty.”

“Fuuuuck!” 

Arching his body upwards Athos’ orgasm was so intense that he actually saw stars and when it was over he collapsed back onto the bed, his face next to the phone. “Love you,” he sighed.

“Backatcha,” said Porthos, gruff and mellowed out. “I still haven’t done that coming on your face thing, have I?”

“No,” said Athos.

“Reckon it’s a bit of kink for you.”

Athos could picture Porthos’ wicked grin. “It might be,” he said, blushing as he always did when they talked about sex.

“We’re going to work on that as soon as I get home.” The baby began to cry from the other room. “Is that Raoul? He’s up early.”

“We probably disturbed him with all the noise we were making.” Athos smirked as he cleaned himself up using a handy pack of baby wipes. “I’d better go. I’ll text you later to say goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too,” said Porthos. “Kiss the babe and I’ll see you in nine days.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Tomorrow's the big day then?” said Constance as they ambled through the Tuileries, eating hot dogs and giving Lily and Raoul pieces of bread roll to chomp on. “When do I get to meet the love of your life?”

“Not for at least a week,” smirked Athos. “I’ll be keeping him so busy in bed that neither of us will be able to walk.”

“Do not want to know,” said Constance. “Imagine my fingers are in my ears.”

“Stop being homophobic,” teased Athos. 

“As if,” said Constance. “Do you want me to tell you about my sex life with Jacques?”

Athos shook his head. He’d met Constance’s middle aged husband and found him utterly boring. The man owned a haberdashery warehouse and spoke of nothing but his list of fashion designer clients. “You’ve already told me you sleep in separate bedrooms,” he laughed.

“We do meet up occasionally for some rumpy pumpy,” she retorted.

“Rumpy pumpy?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You need to have that affair soon.”

“I know,” sighed Constance. “I’m on the lookout. I may borrow a bloke off my friend Adele. She has at least four lovers. One of them is Armand Richelieu, would you believe.”

“Really?” said Athos, who’d believe anything. The French truly deserved their sleazy reputation.

“Shall we take the little ones to the swing park?” said Constance, discarding her hot dog wrapper in the bin and slurping down the remains of her Coke.

“Maybe for a little while,” said Athos. “I need to get back and tidy before Porthos comes home tomorrow and I want to make a cake.”

“You’re such a good housewife,” teased Constance.

“Porthos loves cake,” said Athos defensively. He couldn’t make dinner to save his life, but he could bake a nice sponge.

When his phone began to ring Raoul squealed loudly at the familiar ringtone, waving his arms. “Shush, baby,” said Athos as he retrieved it from the changing bag. “Hello, my love. How are you?”

“Totally shit,” said Porthos in a miserable voice. “I’ve fucked everything up.”

At first Athos assumed his woes had something to do with the big audition, but the background sounds to the call were strange, lots of people talking, echoing footsteps, odd beeping noises, and putting two and two together he began to feel sick with worry. “What’s the matter, Porthos? Tell me.”

“They really liked me,” said Porthos, his words getting more muddled by the second. “They said on the spot that I’d be perfect for the part. They wanted me to do it.”

He sounded so choked up and wrong that Athos switched from worry to full on panic. “What happened?” he asked. “Please tell me.”

“We went out to a manège to test my riding skills. Hang on a minute.” 

Athos could hear him talking to someone else and waited, heart in his mouth, for the rest of the story. 

“I fell off the bloody horse,” said Porthos and his voice was tight with pain. “I’ve bust my wrist up and I’ve got to have an operation right away to sort it out.”

“Which hospital are you at?” asked Athos.

“Charing Cross, I think,” said Porthos. “I’ll call you as soon as it’s over. I’ll be home as soon as I’m fit to travel.”

That was it and Athos was left staring at his phone, speechless with misery. With none of the usual _love you’s_ and _kiss the babe’s_ , the conversation seemed horribly incomplete.

“What’s the matter?” asked Constance.

Athos struggled to collect his thoughts. “He had a fall when he was riding. I need to go to London.”

“I’ll look after Raoul for you. We’ll get his things right now.”

“Thank you,” said Athos, “but I need him with me.” As frightened as he was, he couldn’t cope with the idea of being apart from his son as well as Porthos.

“How will you manage?” she asked.

“Hotels have travel cots,” said Athos. “I’ll fill a suitcase with his stuff and buy whatever I need when I’m over there.”

“Sweetie, does Raoul have a passport?”

Athos shook his head. “He has an ID card. That should do.”

"I'm sure it will.” Constance squeezed his hand. “But do you really think it's a good idea to take him with you? Travelling with a baby is a nightmare at the best of times. I’ll have him for a night or two. Lily will love it. It’ll be her first ever sleepover party.”

“And what about Jacques?” asked Athos.

“He can lump it,” replied Constance. “Come on, Athos. Get moving. We have lots to do.”

With Constance taking charge of the babies and packing all the things Raoul would need into the boot of the Renault, Athos booked a flight and reserved a room at the nearest hotel to the Charing Cross hospital. 

“Am I being stupid?” he asked as he stowed his holdall on top of Raoul’s stuff and slammed the boot shut. “He’s hurt his wrist.”

“Do you want to be there for him?”

“Very much so,” said Athos, hating the thought of Porthos alone and suffering. He’d sounded so broken on the phone. “He’s always been there for me when I needed him.”

“Well then, it’s your turn to do the same.”

With the car packed to the roof and the two babies strapped safely into their seats, Athos drove the short distance to Constance's home, a pretty house in one of the more upmarket streets in the district.

“Thank you,” he said after he’d unloaded all the baby things and dumped them in the hallway.

“Go,” said Constance. “Or you’ll miss your flight.” 

It was a repeat of what he’d said to Porthos a month ago and the symmetry was uncomfortable.

There was one last thing to let go of which was proving to be nigh on impossible. “Bye bye, Raoul,” he said, burying his face against his son’s neck. “Be a good boy for Constance. Daddy’ll be back soon with Porthos then we’ll all go to the zoo together.”

Constance took Raoul from him and ushered him towards the door. “We’ll be fine. I have his grandparents’ number if there are any problems. Call me as soon as you get to London.”

“Byebyebyebye,” sang Raoul, waving his chubby hand. “Dada.”

Not daring to glance backwards, feeling as if he was abandoning his child the exact same way Marie had done eight months ago, Athos ran for the car and drove like a madman to the airport, smoking an ancient Marlboro from a pack in the glove compartment and trying to calm himself down.

He barely made it through all the departure checks before the gates were shut. For once the flight wasn’t delayed and in less than six hours of receiving that worrying call from Porthos, he was on British soil, taking a taxi to the hospital and ringing Constance to make sure that all was well with the baby. Checking into the hotel could wait. He was travelling light today with less stuff than he normally carried on a day out with Raoul.

“Can you tell me where I can find Porthos du Vallon?” he asked the girl at the hospital reception desk. “He was admitted today. Surgical or Orthopaedics, something like that.” His English kept deserting him when he needed it most. 

“How do you spell it?” asked the girl as she stared at the screen in front of her.

Saying each letter slowly, Athos began to panic, wondering if he’d got the name of the hospital correct.

“He’s on D5,” she said, looking up with a smile as soon as she had located Porthos. “Visiting starts at seven but they may let you in early if you’re lucky.”

“Thank you,” said Athos and he was so grateful he could have leant across the desk and kissed her.

Unable to concentrate on practical matters, he took the lift to the wrong floor and then, once he’d realised his mistake, he ran down a flight of stairs to get to the surgical department.

The staff nurse in charge of D5 looked at the clock and then gave him the once over, taking pity on him, probably because of his worried expression and disheveled state of dress. “He’s still a bit groggy from the anaesthetic, but he’ll liven up soon,” she said.

Following her directions, Athos peered around the entrance of the side ward to see Porthos propped up in bed, staring into space.

“Hello, gorgeous. What have you done to yourself?” he said as he took in the bruises and a left arm that was encased in plaster.

“Athos?” Porthos blinked up at him. “Am I dreaming again?”

“No, love, I’m here,” said Athos, pulling the chair as close to the bed as he could manage and holding onto Porthos’ undamaged hand. “Where else would I be?”

“What about Raoul?” said Porthos in a panic. “Is he with Mum?”

“Constance is looking after him,” said Athos. “I was with her when you called.”

“I fucked everything up,” said Porthos, his face crumpling. “I had that job in the bag and it was all going so well and now this had to happen.”

“Hush, darling.” Athos kissed his hand. “There’ll be other acting jobs. The main thing is that you’re okay.”

“Why can’t I ever catch a break?”

“You did,” smirked Athos. “You broke your wrist.”

“Funny man,” said Porthos with a ghost of a smile. “Tell me what you’ve been up to while I was away.”

“Mostly having phone sex with you,” said Athos.

“Won’t be doing much of that for a while,” muttered Porthos, nodding at the plaster cast on his left hand.

“You’ll have to make do with me lavishing attention on you,” replied Athos.

“Sounds good.” 

The smile didn’t reach Porthos’ eyes and Athos felt so sorry for him. In an attempt to distract him from the pain, he chattered relentlessly about every bit of nonsense that crept into his head until he’d drifted off to sleep. Shattered from travelling, Athos then kissed him on the forehead and left the hospital, walking the short distance to the hotel and using the time to relay the news to Constance and then Annette.

The room rate he was paying may have been exorbitant, but the building was run down and unappealing, far from the home from home that he had been hoping for. Forcing himself to eat an overpriced meal in the restaurant, he then slunk back to his room and spent what was left of the evening watching TV.

A little later his phone rang and he was surprised and overjoyed to discover that it was Porthos.

“Hello,” he said unable to suppress the smile of delight. “How are you feeling?”

“Sad because you’re not here with me,” said Porthos. “Why did I have to fall asleep and miss you?”

“I’ll be there as soon as they let me in tomorrow,” Athos assured him. “I feel better just being close to you.”

“Not close enough,” said Porthos and then he paused. “I’m sorry if I was a grumpy sod to you today.”

“You were lovely,” said Athos. “You’re always lovely. How soon can you come home?”

“Couple of days, I think.” Porthos sighed. “I need to see the consultant to make sure things are okay and then they’ll pass me on to an orthopaedic specialist back in Paris. They reckon I may need to have a few months of physio.”

“Oh,” said Athos, worries building again.

“There might be some nerve damage which’ll take a while to repair.” 

There was the unmistakable sound of a sob and Athos’ heart broke. “Don’t, Porthos, please,” he begged. “I hate this. I need to be there with you.”

“I’m okay,” said Porthos, pulling himself together. “It’s just that everything hurts and I’m exhausted. I missed you so much, babe. Thank you for flying over here to be with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He lowered his voice. “The nurse is glaring at me so I suppose I’d better go. I love you.”

“I love you too,” said Athos. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Lying back on the bed he clutched his phone to him as if it were a lifeline, imagining that Porthos was there with him. When he eventually fell asleep it was fitful, his dreams full of terrible scenarios in which those injuries had been life threatening and he woke feeling stressed out and more tired than ever. 

A quick call to Constance, first thing in the morning, established that Raoul was his usual live wire self--hard work, but as happy as a sandboy--and even though Athos could hear Jacques Bonacieux grumbling in the background he was relieved to know that one member of the family was doing okay.

“Annette says she’ll drive over and pick him up from you if he’s too much trouble.”

“No need,” said Constance. “As long as you’re not planning on staying in London forever.”

“We’ll be home as soon as possible,” said Athos. “It’s always raining here and the food is-” He made a sound of disapproval.

“Then give my love to your wounded soldier and I’ll see you both in a couple of days.”

After a breakfast of greasy eggs and bacon, Athos hit the shops, buying some boy’s toys for Porthos to amuse him during his stay in hospital. Unable to wait any longer, he popped in to drop off the presents and was there during rounds in time for a meeting with the consultant.

“You’ll be pleased to know that Mr du Vallon is well enough to be discharged,” the man said, not bothering to introduce himself and speaking rudely over the top of Porthos’ head. “We’ll have his notes sent over to the University Hospital and you can be on a plane home to Paris this afternoon.”

“Really?” said Athos, worried that this all seemed a bit rushed.

“No need for him to be languishing here in my ward when he’d be far more comfortable at home,” said the surgeon. “I’ll leave the discharge arrangements to you and the staff nurse here.”

“He wants rid of me,” said Porthos gloomily once the consultant had marched off to belittle some other patients. 

Athos suspected there was a queue of people waiting for the bed. “And I want you back so it suits us all perfectly. Let me see if I can book flights at this short notice.”

The only seats available were business class, but it seemed a sensible extravagance with Porthos so recently out of surgery.

Having checked out of the hotel, Athos then collected Porthos’ belongings from the hostel he’d been staying in for the last month and returned to the hospital a few hours later to find his man dressed and waiting for him in the reception area of the ward. He seemed withdrawn from the world, nothing like his old self, and Athos was instantly concerned.

“Are you sure you’re up to the journey?” he asked.

“They’re not exactly giving me much choice in the matter,” Porthos replied with a one shoulder shrug.

“We could stay in London for a few days?” suggested Athos.

“You’ll only spend the whole time fretting about Raoul,” snapped Porthos. “And anyway I’m sick of the sight of this bloody country.” By the time they were safely in the taxi he’d calmed down a little and was penitent. “I’m sorry,” he said, downbeat and deflated. “I’m off the decent painkillers and relying on paracetamol to get me through this. I’m a grouch. You should start calling me Oscar.”

Athos kissed Porthos on the lips, eliciting a look of displeasure from the cabbie which he ignored. “I don’t care how bad tempered you are as long as I get to look after you.”

“Thanks,” muttered Porthos.

It was a quick hop over the Channel from Gatwick to Charles de Gaulle, but unfortunately, the time consuming red tape and transfers from taxi to plane to taxi meant that it was gone two in the morning before they finally arrived home, Porthos gritting his teeth in pain and Athos shattered from lugging so many suitcases around. It went without saying that neither of them had bothered to take advantage of the free champagne on offer during the flight.

“Can I help you out of your clothes?” asked Athos.

“Not a chance,” said Porthos, toeing off his shoes and then lying back on the bed with a groan. “Just get me some paracetamol and I’ll be sorted.”

Bringing in the plastic tub of pills and a glass of water, Athos undressed to boxer shorts and t-shirt then climbed in next to Porthos, pulling the duvet over them both.

It was not quite the joyful reunion he’d been dreaming of for the past month, but he’d take it with pleasure, happy that they’d soon be a family again.


	16. Chapter 16

As the sun broke through the morning mist, Athos woke to find Porthos sitting up in bed and staring out of the window, a blank expression on his face. “Did you get any rest?” he asked.

“A bit,” said Porthos and it sounded a lot like a lie.

“Can I get you anything?” Athos rested his hand on Porthos’ shoulder and removed it quickly at the ensuing shudder of pain.

“No, I’m okay. I need to get up and have a wee so I’ll sort myself out. You go back to sleep.”

Athos tried his best to doze off again, but he was on edge, brain full of nonsense, and so, after a quick shower, he joined Porthos in the living room.

“I could run you a bath if that would help,” he suggested, only to have his idea shot down almost before it had left his lips.

“Nothing will help,” snapped Porthos. “I’m okay. Stop going on at me.”

It was clear that he was far from okay, but with no idea of what else to do Athos headed for the kitchen and hid in there for a while, making coffee and toast and calling Constance.

“I’ll be round soon to fetch Raoul,” he said. “How’s he been for you?”

“Happy.” She laughed. “But I can see why you call him a monkey. He’s into everything. I’m glad I started with a girl.”

“He’s kept you on your toes then?”

“God yes,” said Constance. “How’s Porthos?”

“Not too good.” Athos sighed. “Tired and in a lot of pain, but I suppose that’s only to be expected after a fall like that.”

“Poor lamb,” said Constance. “Distract him with rumpy pumpy.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s going to work.” Athos peered around the door at Porthos, whose jaw was clenched as he stared at the television. “I’ll take him some food before I go. That might cheer him up.”

“I’ll see you in a bit,” said Constance. “Bye for now.”

“Who were you talking to?” said Porthos when Athos carried in toast and coffee and placed it next to him on the table.

“Just Constance,” replied Athos. “I’m off to pick up Raoul in a minute. Do you need anything before I go?”

“A new arm,” said Porthos, looking at him for the first time today and managing a minuscule smile. “I think it must be time for some more painkillers.”

“Not for another hour,” said Athos, checking his watch. “But I’ll get them for you in case I’m delayed.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you were,” muttered Porthos. “I’m not good company.”

“You're the best company in the world,” said Athos returning with paracetamol and water then kissing Porthos on the top of his head.

“Don’t. I’m rank,” said Porthos, edging away from him. “Go fetch the baby.”

Athos had hoped that the sight of Raoul’s cheeky little face would cheer Porthos up, but things were ten times worse with all of them in the flat. Over the moon to see his papa after such a long time without him, the baby refused to leave him alone, migrating around the furniture towards him and demanding to be held.

“Don’t you want to see me too?” laughed Athos, picking him up to keep him out of trouble to which he received a bash on the nose.

Not used to being confined to his playpen Raoul grew bad tempered, and sympathising with him Athos let him loose to have a crawl. He’d thought that Porthos would manage whilst he got on with some laundry but that was not the case.

“He’s going to knock the telly over at this rate,” yelled Porthos. “I’d do something if I could.”

“I know,” said Athos in a conciliatory voice. “I’ll take him out to the park.”

In order for Porthos to catch up on some much needed rest, Athos and Raoul went for a very long walk, visiting all of their favourite places and returning several hours later armed with a bag full of treats from the patisserie. Feeding the baby and settling him down for the night, Athos hoped fervently that he and Porthos would fall back into familiar, comfortable ways, but if anything the tension increased. He tried to cook a meal for them, but made the mistake of choosing steak which he then had to cut up into strips so that Porthos could manage to fork it into his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said, topping up their wine glasses after dinner was over. “I didn’t plan that at all well.”

“It’s okay,” said Porthos, sliding his good arm over Athos’ shoulders. “I’ll be back to normal soon.”

“I know something that usually makes you feel better.” Athos smiled and reached out to unfasten Porthos’ flies, slipping a hand inside to caress him with gentle strokes. Opening the jeans fully he leant over, taking Porthos’ soft cock into his mouth and sucking slowly and steadily.

“It’s no use,” said Porthos after a few minutes had elapsed with no obvious result. “I’m too tired and too stressed. I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Okay,” said Athos, feeling like a total failure. 

“You have a wank if you want,” was the last thing Porthos said as he left the living room which didn’t do a lot to improve Athos’ mood.

“It wasn’t about that,” he muttered as he switched channels away from the news and onto an arts program then promptly dozed off.

Raoul must have sensed the atmosphere in the flat and woke a few hours later, demanding attention. When Athos went into his room he was standing at the cot, arms raised for a cuddle and a huge smile on his face. 

“Dada.” 

“Quiet now, little man,” said Athos, picking him up and holding him tight. “Porthos is asleep. We have to be like mice. Shush.”

“Sssss,” repeated Raoul as Athos carried him through to the kitchen to warm some milk.

“Clever boy.” Athos smiled at his son. “We’ll have you talking properly before all the other babies.”

“Dadadababada,” sang Raoul loudly and then looked at Athos’ face and amended it to, “Ssss.”

“Stop making me laugh.” Athos shook his head. “You’re too old for bottles in the middle of the night. Nappy first then drink then sleep.”

“Ssss,” agreed Raoul, practicing his newest sound.

He was a good boy for his nappy change, lying still and grinning up at Athos and soon they were seated together in the chair by the window, Raoul wrapped snuggly in a blanket with both of them holding the bottle.

“I should mind when you wake up at night,” whispered Athos, “but I like it.”

“I like it too,” said a voice from behind them. “You and him are the best things that ever happened to me.”

Athos turned his head and was shocked. He’d never seen Porthos on the verge of tears. He’d heard him crying on the phone, but this was so much worse. With Raoul practically asleep, he placed him in the cot and tucked the blankets around him, then turned his attention to the one who needed him most, drawing him carefully into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” breathed Porthos. “I’m messing this up as well as everything else in my life.”

“We’re fine, sweetheart,” said Athos, using the tone of voice that soothed Raoul when he was upset. “I love you. Now go back to bed and get some rest.”

“Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will. I just fell asleep on the sofa earlier,” smiled Athos. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“I wouldn't blame you if you were,” said Porthos as they went off to bed, together this time as it should be.

“Daft beggar,” said Athos, choosing to use Porthos’ own words for the affectionate telling off. “Get into a comfortable position and I’ll give your neck a rub.”

“No such thing as comfortable.” Porthos, however, lay on his side in order to give Athos easy access.

“That’s it,” said Athos massaging the muscles gently. “You're so tense.”

“I hurt,” said Porthos in a mumble. “S’nice though.”

It wasn’t long before he dropped off again and for a while Athos lay on his back listening to the gentle snores accompanied by snuffles from the baby monitor, relieved that all was well. 

Sadly, by the time several weeks had elapsed, things were far from fine and were in fact deteriorating rapidly.

“You look wrecked,” said Constance as they pushed Lily and Raoul on the swings. “Anyone would think you had a newborn rather than a ten month old. Is he teething again?”

Athos yawned. “It’s not Raoul,” he admitted. “It’s Porthos. Every time I roll over in bed it jars his arm and he wakes up. It’s no good for him so I try not to move.”

“Oh, Athos, you can’t get by without sleeping.” Constance tutted him.

“Well, nor can Porthos,” he retorted.

“He’s not the one trying to look after a very active baby all day long,” she said. “Make him see a doctor and get some proper painkillers to knock him out a bit.”

“He went for an orthopaedic appointment last week,” said Athos. “They told him the wrist was healing well. Apparently some pain is to be expected as the bone tissue knits back together.” He sighed. “They took his cast off and booked him in with a physiotherapist, but I know he’s missed a couple of sessions with her already.” This was another source of worry, but he didn’t want to bother Constance with a whole string of his woes. “I’m sure things will improve soon.”

“I hope so, for your sake as well as his.” Constance frowned at him as he yawned again. “Come on, mister. You’re coming back to mine for some lunch and a snooze. The world will seem a lot more cheerful after a nap in my guest bed. Goose down pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets make life worth living.”

Things may have seemed brighter for the short time Athos was at Constance's house, but unfortunately this didn’t continue once he arrived back home.

“How was physio this morning?” he asked as he unloaded shopping bags from the pushchair, thinking about what to make for dinner.

Ignoring the question, Porthos threw one back at him. “Where have you been all day?”

Athos frowned in confusion. This was not like Porthos at all. “Constance and I took the kids to the park and then I went back to hers for lunch. I’m sorry I’m a bit late home, but I fell asleep when I was there.”

“You fell asleep?” said Porthos incredulously as he nursed his left arm. “Were you that tired after fucking her?”

Athos felt sick. Why would Porthos be accusing him of something so awful? “I haven’t been getting much rest lately,” he said in a monotone. “I was shattered. That’s all.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that crap?” said Porthos.

“No, you’re right.” Athos hung onto his composure by a thread of gossamer, opting for sarcasm as a way of venting his frustration. “It’s a habit we got into while you were away. We put the babies down for a nap and then we spend the rest of the day having sex with each other. Sometimes her husband joins in, when he’s working from home, because he knows how much I like it up the arse.”

“Stop it,” growled Porthos.

“No, you stop it,” said Athos. “Stop being a fool and sort yourself out. Do you think I don’t know you’ve been missing your physiotherapy appointments? Magda’s phoned twice to find out where you were.” He hated losing his temper. It happened so rarely and it frightened him when it did, but he was in full flow now. “I’m not having an affair with Constance. If you really want to know what’s wrong, the truth is I daren’t go to sleep at night because every time I move it wakes you up, and I’m so shattered because of it that I can barely think.”

Porthos stared at the floor, still protecting his arm. “I’ll move back into my flat,” he said in a dull voice.

By now Athos was shaking from a combination of rage and misery. This was Porthos’ answer to the problem? After six weeks of him bending over backwards to try and make things right between them. Of begging to go to appointments with Porthos. Running him baths and fixing him food and crawling through fire to make things better, _this_ was his solution?

Raoul was crying now, strapped in his buggy, his little heart breaking as he listened to the horrible sound of them fighting. 

Porthos crouched down next to the pushchair and stroked Raoul’s cheek. “Quiet now, poppet. Shush.”

“Ssss,” repeated Raoul in between sobs.

“Shouting’s no good for children,” said Porthos, standing upright again and finally looking Athos in the eye, his spirit broken. “It’ll be best for everyone if I go.”

Athos remembered his own parents arguing constantly, but he and Porthos hadn’t been like that. They’d had one fight in three months and there was good reason for the outburst. Still angry, angrier than ever, he walked over to the bureau and took out a brown A4 envelope that had been sent to him by his solicitor.

“Then you may as well have the deeds to the flat that I promised you,” he said, throwing the paperwork across the room at Porthos, who stretched for it instinctively and then, howling with pain, collapsed to the floor.


	17. Chapter 17

His anger now a thing of the past, Athos knelt next to Porthos, cradling his head. “What’s wrong? Tell me, love, please. You’re frightening me.”

“The pain keeps getting worse.” The words were forced out through clenched teeth. “I can’t do physio because I’m in agony all the time. There’s nothing they can do. I just have to wait it out.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Athos, “First things first, let’s get you up off the floor.” Carefully he helped Porthos move until he was curled into the corner of the couch, a fleece blanket tucked around him. “I’ll make us all a drink and then we’ll work out what to do about this.”

“There’s nothing to be done,” muttered Porthos, his face still twisted in pain.

“Rubbish,” said Athos, lifting Raoul out of the buggy and placing him in the playpen. “Don’t be defeatist.”

The baby stared upwards, a solemn expression on his face as if he understood that things weren’t right.

“Good boy,” said Athos. “Play with your toys and no throwing things at Papa. I tried that and it doesn’t end well.”

A couple of paracetamol took the edge of Porthos’ pain just enough that he was able to unclench his jaw and manage a conversation.

“Right,” said Athos. “Tomorrow morning I’ll make an appointment for you to see your GP and get some heavy duty painkillers.”

“They won’t give me anything,” said Porthos. “I asked.”

“They will because I’ll be with you and I’ll insist.” Athos turned to face his partner. “I know what a stoic you are. I know you won’t have owned up to how much this is ruining your life. The only reason you told me is because you had no other choice.”

“I’m scared,” admitted Porthos. “I keep hoping that what they say is true and it’ll get better in time.”

“But it’s not _getting_ better,” said Athos. “It’s getting worse and if your specialist won’t do anything then we’ll find someone who will. There are tons of orthopaedic surgeons who deal with these type of injuries. Sports medicine is one of the top fields.”

“You reckon?” said Porthos, a hint of hope returning.

“I know for a fact,” said Athos. “I promise you we’ll get your arm fixed. In the meantime, I’ll sleep in the spare bed in Raoul’s room and that way we can both get some rest and stop bickering with each other all day long.”

“I don’t like it, but it does sound like a sensible idea.” Porthos reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thanks.”

“Don’t ever give up on us again,” said Athos, squeezing back. “I love you and I need you in my life. We need you.”

“Even like this?” said Porthos in a low voice.

“Especially like this,” said Athos, “Because that’s when you need us most.”

“The stupid thing is I’m really good at horse riding,” said Porthos, his words coming out of left field. “I was showing off, doing a vaulting mount. They didn’t even ask me for one. I’m such a fucking tool.”

“No,” said Athos. “You’re talented and you wanted them to know how good you were. That’s what being an actor’s all about.”

“But if I hadn’t been such a twat we could be living it up in Los Angeles right now.” Porthos closed his eyes to ward off all kinds of pain.

“Listen to me,” said Athos firmly. “I’ve spent most of my life jetting around the world and the happiest I’ve ever been is when I’m here with you. _You_ make me happy. All I want is for you to be happy too and I know how important your job is to you, but let it be about the acting and not about the lifestyle.”

Porthos didn't say anything for a long time and Athos was beginning to wonder if he’d fallen asleep during his short monologue, but then an arm descended about his shoulders.

“I think you and me are pretty good medicine for each other,” said Porthos in that lovely deep voice of his.

“Dadadaaaa,” yelled Raoul from the playpen, banging his cup on the frame to get their attention.

“He’s feeling left out,” said Porthos with a washed out smile. “Go and get him.”

Somehow, with a lot of planning and repositioning, they managed a two minute family cuddle, but soon Raoul was off and Athos was chasing after him, lugging him up and throwing him into the air on their way to the kitchen to make dinner.

“Wine?” he shouted as he trapped Raoul in his high chair and fed him carrot and beef stew.

“I’ve done a lot of that today,” Porthos called back. “But I wouldn’t say no to a glass of red.”

Athos smiled as he poured the claret, still worried for Porthos, but relieved that they were finally communicating.

Refreshed after a full night’s sleep Athos was up with the sun, tidying the flat and doing the laundry as he waited for the doctor’s surgery to open. Raoul was breakfasted, bathed and sitting in his playpen when the clock ticked around to nine and it was time to make the call.

Luckily there was a cancellation available for that afternoon and Athos took it, knowing that pain relief would make a huge difference, even if it was only a short term solution.

“Shit! What time is it?” asked Porthos, rubbing his eyes when Athos took him in a cup of coffee.

“Past ten,” smiled Athos. “Proof that you sleep better without me.”

“For now,” replied Porthos, catching hold of his hand and kissing it. “But once I’m mended I won’t be letting you out of this bed for weeks.”

“Good to know,” smiled Athos. “It’s nice to hear you sounding positive again.” He perched next to him. “I’ve made an appointment for you with your GP at two o'clock today. ‘I’m now about to do battle with the orthopaedic department at the hospital.”

“What would I do without you?” said Porthos, not for the first time.

“Who knows? Luckily you’ll never have to find out.” Athos kissed him on the lips. “I’m coming with you to every appointment, by the way. If Constance or Annette can’t have Raoul then he’ll be coming with us too.”

“I see now where our son gets his bully boy tactics from,” chuckled Porthos, almost sounding like his old self.

After lunch, Athos dropped Raoul off at Constance’s and then drove Porthos to the surgery, sad that his partner couldn’t even manage the five minute stroll down the road. Even getting in and out of the car was almost impossible, his skin taking on a greenish tinge by the time they were entering the doors of the health centre.

More helpful than anyone they’d seen in the system so far, Porthos’ GP was certain, from the description of such extreme symptoms, that there had been some damage done to Porthos' elbow as well as his wrist during the fall and that the problems were being caused by a trapped nerve.

“We’ll pay for treatment if needs be,” said Athos, who’d had no joy from the hospital so far and was willing to do anything he could to help.

Dr Lemay shook his head firmly. “This is an ongoing situation and it needs to be rectified,” he said. “I’ll send an emergency referral to a surgeon friend of mine at Georges Pompidou. You should hear something very soon. In the meantime, I’ll sort out some pain relief.”

It was amazing what a difference a cortisone injection and some amitriptyline tablets made. Gradually, over the course of the next few days, Porthos improved so much that he was able to come for walks with them, finally getting to meet Constance.

“So Athos tells me you’ve got over being a bear with a sore head,” she said in her usual blunt fashion as she lifted her daughter out of the swing. “It’s Lily’s birthday party tomorrow. You’re very welcome to join us if you’re feeling up to it.”

“It’s at McDonald's,” said Athos, pulling a face. “Fish fingers and ball pits.”

“You’re a bloody snob,” said Constance. “Raoul loves it there.”

“I’m pretty partial to a Big Mac myself,” said Porthos with a grin.

“For a man who cooks so well, you have no taste at all,” complained Athos as he held onto one of Raoul’s hands. “Show Constance what you can do. Walk to Porthos.”

The baby took several tentative steps and fell onto the grass, jutting out his lower lip and looking annoyed with himself. He then picked a daisy and ate it.

“Clever boy,” said Constance. “Lily’s far too lazy. She likes everyone to wait on her.” Proving her point she placed the little girl next to Raoul and they all watched as she sat perfectly still like a tiny princess. She then ruined the moment by punching Raoul on the nose.

“Sorry,” said Constance, picking her up and telling her off. “Behave yourself, flower. You’re supposed to beat up your enemies not your friends. There’ll be no presents tomorrow for mean little mademoiselles.”

For the first time in ages, Porthos bent over to pick Raoul up and comfort him. “There there, little man. She’s got a solid right hook on her, that one. You’ll have to learn to watch out for it.”

“Or stay away from women altogether and be gay like your daddies,” laughed Constance.

“You’ll be breaking a lot of hearts one day, won’t you, son?” said Porthos. “Boys and girls alike.” Raoul offered him a kiss, full of daisy petals and he hugged the baby to him. “Didn’t think I’d be able to do this so soon.”

“Just think how much better it’ll be when they’ve fixed the damage and you don’t have to rely on drugs for a cuddle,” said Athos, slipping his arm carefully around Porthos’ waist.

There was a clicking sound and they looked up to see Constance aiming her phone at them. 

“That was a lovely picture of you three,” she said. “I’ll take some more tomorrow.”

“If we haven’t all been poisoned by the food,” said Athos with a wry twist of the lips.


	18. Chapter 18

Athos wasn’t the sort of man to interfere unless it was absolutely necessary, but with no other option, he stole the phone off Porthos and took over the conversation.

“Yes, that would be perfect,” he said to the surgical admissions administrator. “Send us the details through, please.”

Porthos glowered at him. “How bloody dare you?” he hissed, keeping his voice steady so as not to upset the baby who was happily demolishing some french toast fingers.

“We agreed we’d take the first date available,” said Athos pleasantly, handing the phone back and picking food debris up off the kitchen floor.

“I am not having my operation on Raoul’s birthday.” In the blink of an eye Porthos had gone from angry to miserable and, after wiping his greasy hands on some paper towel, Athos went in for a cuddle. 

“He’s a baby,” he said, resting his head against Porthos’ good shoulder. “He won’t know what day of the week it is. We’ll have a massive party for him once you've recovered enough to enjoy it.”

“But it’s his _birthday_ ,” said Porthos, still miserable. “It’s special.”

Athos knew what lay at the heart of this even if Porthos didn’t. Annette had told him on the quiet that Porthos had had no concept of his own birthday celebrations when he went to live with them. He’d assumed that they were only for other children.

“The most important thing for our son is that you’re well enough to play with him again,” said Athos. “That’ll be the best present ever.”

Porthos grudgingly conceded. “I _will_ see him in the morning before I go?”

“We’ll both be there when they take you down to theatre and when you come back,” Athos assured him.

“Can I at least give him one present on the day?”

“You can.” Athos kissed him as a thank you for being so adorable. “And I’m going to give _you_ a present as soon as Raoul goes down for his nap.”

There’d been another upside to the steroid injections which had made both men very happy indeed. It wasn’t just the amtriptyline which had led to improved moods.

“Promises, promises,” murmured Porthos, teasing his tongue over that sensitive pulse point beneath Athos’ ear.

“Do I ever fail to keep my promises to you?” asked Athos, melting in those arms.

“Nope,” replied Porthos. “Except for today because it’s Monday and you have to go to baby club.”

“I’ll send Raoul on his own.” Athos turned his head for a proper kiss. “He must be old enough by now.”

“Da. Pa. Ess,” yelled Raoul, trying to attract their attention away from each other. A cup winged its way towards them, followed by a half chewed finger of toast.

“Someone doesn’t approve of Daddy and Papa getting cozy in front of him,” laughed Porthos.

“You’re a spoilt little boy,” said Athos, wiping Raoul down and picking him up out of the high chair to which he received an eggy kiss as thanks, plus a smack on the face for good measure. “No hitting,” he added, wagging his finger. “You have to be on your best behaviour for group.”

“Goo,” repeated Raoul.

“Can I come?” asked Porthos. “It’s nice out. We could have a coffee afterwards at L’Artiste.”

He’d been with them on play dates with Constance and Lily, but this was the first time he’d wanted to come to baby group and Athos was thrilled. There was nothing he liked more than to show Porthos off to everyone.

“Of course,” he said. “We want you with us all the time.”

“You’ll be sick of me soon,” said Porthos. “You’ll be so pleased when I go back to work.”

“Never,” said Athos, moving in for a peck on the lips with Raoul sandwiched between them. “I need to get the monkey changed,” he said, pulling unwillingly away. “Constance will be here in a minute. She’s always early for everything.”

“You do that and I’ll wash up the breakfast things,” said Porthos.

Raoul was in a cheeky mood today, escaping halfway through and running around the room wearing nothing but his penguin t-shirt.

“If you pee or anything worse than that I’ll make you clean it up,” warned Athos, throwing a clean nappy at his naughty son.

“Pa,” yelled Raoul standing at the stair gate and chucking toys at Porthos. 

“I think I chose the easy option,” laughed Porthos.

Recaptured and giggling, the baby behaved long enough for Athos to get him dressed and ready to go out. 

“Trapped,” said Athos triumphantly as he fastened him into the pushchair. “Now I can get ready.”

“Ess,” said Raoul pointing at pictures in his book. “Sss.”

“That’ll be Constance,” said Porthos, when the bell rang. “Are we all set?”

“We are indeed,” said Athos, checking he had money for drinks as he opened the door.

“Hello, Athos,” said the unexpected visitor who bent down to peer into the pushchair. “Hello, Raoul. Mama’s missed you.”

All the breath left Athos’ body and he felt nauseous. “Marie,” he said, choking on the name. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s almost our son’s birthday,” she said. “Did you think I would forget him?”

Athos had hoped so very much that she would. In fact it hadn’t crossed his mind that they would ever see her again.

“Duke and I are spending May in Bermuda, so I thought I’d drop off a present for Raoul before we go,” she continued. 

“Now’s not a good time,” said Porthos, who had come to the door to see what was going on and was standing protectively behind them. “We’re just on our way out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Marie, looking curiously up at him before opening a carrier bag and taking out a fluffy cat with a Disney Store label dangling from its ear.

Appropriate, was all Athos could think. White as snow, glassy eyed and over priced.

“Mama’s got you a present,” she said handing the toy to Raoul who examined it carefully and then hugged it.

“Maow,” he said after some consideration. 

So much for teaching him proper words. “Cat,” corrected Athos automatically.

The front door of the building opened and in blustered Constance. “You’re not answering your phone so I had to come all the way up those bloody steps.” She paused when she caught sight of Marie. “Oh, sorry.”

“We have to go,” said Athos to Marie. “We’ll be late.”

“Perhaps I can drop by when we get back from holiday,” said Marie, clearly uncomfortable at being surrounded on all sides by strangers with less than welcoming expressions.

“Of course,” said Athos politely.

“I’ll call first and arrange a suitable time to visit.” She bent down again and this time kissed Raoul on the cheek. “He’s very sweet,” she said as she turned on her heels and left the building.

Collecting himself, Athos took the toy cat away from Raoul and put it on the hall table of the flat before dead locking the door.

“Was that his mum?” asked Constance. “She’s pretty.”

Athos nodded, opening the front door and manoeuvring the pushchair down each step with Raoul singing his usual song of encouragement.

“Bup. Bup. Bup.”

“Ath?” said Porthos, catching up to him. “You okay?”

Athos shrugged. He felt as if he’d been thrown into an icy sea: numb, sick, cold, his emotions in turmoil.

“You don’t have to let her see him,” said Porthos in a gentle voice.

“I do,” said Athos simply. “Because she’s his mother and it would hurt him if I refused. He has a right to know her.” Logic prevailed and he smiled at Porthos. “Let’s face it, she hasn’t been in contact for nearly a year. This was just a duty call to prove to herself that she has a heart.”

“You know what, you’re on the nose with that,” said Porthos, letting out a huff of relief. 

“She just wanted to make sure he was all right before going back to her posh life,” added Constance. “Let’s not be moody. The sun’s shining, the birds are singing and now we get to watch our little gangsters ruthlessly take over baby group.”

“Do they really do that?” Porthos grinned. 

“They’re the Kray twins of the sixth Arrondissement,” said Athos, pushing aside his worries. “No child is safe with those two on the rampage.”

“We’re bound to get kicked out soon,” agreed Constance.

Normally they were the outsiders of the circle, but today everything was different and the reason for this was the presence of a six foot four, ridiculously handsome black man. Inquisitive and garrulous by nature, Porthos sweet talked every woman in the building and had made so many new friends by the end of the session that he had at least a dozen new numbers in his contacts.

“He’s showing us up,” complained Constance as she and Athos watched from the sidelines. “We may have to ban him from coming again.”

“Impossible,” said Athos. “Look at him. He’s having the time of his life.”

With Raoul on his knee--the baby happy to show off how well behaved he could be for his papa--Porthos was telling a rapt audience about all the movies he’d been in, skirting over the details of the actual parts he’d played in them. 

He’d just moved on to the tale of that star studded New Year’s Eve party at Silencio when Athos decided it was time to step in. “We should go,” he said, reclaiming Raoul and interrupting Porthos before that carefully constructed image of his was left in tatters. 

“You do ballroom dancing, Athos?” sniggered Catherine. “I can’t quite imagine it.”

Athos glared at Porthos who grinned back at him, as innocent as a newborn lamb. “It really is time to go,” he said, resting a hand on Porthos’ right shoulder. “I promise I’ll bring him along next week.”

“You try and stop me,” said Porthos, beaming at his cluster of new friends. “It’s been great meeting you all.”

“Pa,” yelled Raoul as Athos fastened him into his buggy. “Papapaaaa.”

“I’ve been thinking,” said Porthos as they left the community centre. “After my op, I reckon you should go back to work and I’ll be the stay at home daddy.”

“You give up acting?” smirked Athos. “That’d be like you giving up talking, or grinning, or being gorgeous. Totally impossible.”

“Bloody hell, you two,” muttered Constance. “Does it have to be a constant love in when you’re together?”

“It does, I’m afraid,” said Athos, tucking a hand into Porthos’ back pocket as they walked. 

“What’s happened to my cynical grump of a bestie?” grumbled Constance, passing Lily a biscuit when she began to whinge.

“He’s always sunny when I’m around,” said Porthos, pushing the pushchair proudly along the pavement. “That’s what happens when you’re in love.”


	19. Chapter 19

Athos blinked himself awake and wondered, for a moment, why the sound was an insistent bleeping, rather than the shrill cry of a baby.

“Five more minutes,” muttered Porthos, nudging Athos to make him turn off the racket.

Silencing the alarm clock, Athos hopped out of bed and went into Raoul’s room. “I know this is unheard of,” he said as he released the side of the cot and lifted the sleeping child into his arms. “But Daddy’s actually waking you up today.” He kissed the top of his head. “Happy Birthday, mon petit.”

Raoul’s nappy was still fine and so Athos carried him through to the bedroom and put him in next to Porthos so they could wake up together. He then went to the kitchen to make a coffee and a bottle of milk.

“What about me?” asked Porthos indignantly, having clearly forgotten what day it was.

“Nil by mouth,” said Athos as he got back into bed. “Half an hour and then we have to be up and off to the hospital.”

Porthos sat up, his eyes wide as he remembered the momentous day ahead, and with difficulty he lifted Raoul onto his lap. The daily rituals of life were almost impossible for him without pain relief, getting worse rather than better, and Athos prayed that today would bring an end to the constant agony he was in. He dealt with it well--he was a changed man since admitting his problems--but Athos hated to see him struggle so much with the simple things.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Porthos murmured, his face pressed against Raoul’s auburn curls. Still sleepy, the baby snuggled into him and eyes half open he reached for his bottle. “It’s these moments you know,” Porthos added, looking solemnly at Athos. “We’ll never forget them and thank god too because they can’t be replaced.”

“I know,” said Athos, his hand resting on Porthos’ thigh. “We’re good at this.”

“We are,” agreed Porthos, laughing when Raoul finished his milk and chucked the bottle aside. “Prezzie time and then we all have to get ourselves up.”

Opening the bedside drawer he took out a small parcel and handed it to Raoul, who proceeded to chew it, scrunch it in his fingers and finally, with a lot of help from his daddy, manage to open it.

Athos laughed. “I don’t know where you find these things,” he said as Porthos put the penguin glove puppet on his right hand and made it wave at Raoul. 

The baby squealed and grabbed it to him, launching a full on assault with his mouth, and, leaving them to play, Athos went and ran a bath for the littlest member of the family. Breakfast would be in fits and starts today. He had a load of easy food stacked ready to take to the hospital, plus everything Porthos would need for day surgery.

An hour later they were sitting like ducks in a row, along with all the other out patients who were waiting for minor operations.

“I hate hospitals,” grumbled Porthos. “I don’t know why I have to wear this shit.” He tugged at the hospital gown. “I’m having surgery on my bloody elbow.”

“Perhaps it’s to get rid of the smell of baby sick,” smirked Athos. Disturbed from his usual slow routine, Raoul had thrown his milk up all over Porthos just as they’d got out of the car. “At least we packed a dressing gown for you,” he added.

“That’s because you didn’t want everyone ogling my butt,” said Porthos.

“Too right.” Athos nodded. “It’s my butt to ogle, no one else’s.”

“Porthos du Vallon,” said a nurse, appearing in the doorway, a porter with a wheelchair standing behind her. “If you’d like to come with us.”

“Where should we wait?” asked Athos, jumping up. “We’re his family.”

“After recovery, he’ll be brought back here to the day ward,” said the nurse and she consulted her notes. “The procedure should take about two to three hours so you could go home if you live nearby.”

“We’ll wait,” said Athos. “Thanks.”

Porthos meanwhile had seated himself in the wheelchair, his bag on his knee. “I feel like a right prat,” he grumbled.

“And you look like one,” smirked Athos and then he leant in closer. “I love you and I’ll see you very soon.”

“Love you too,” said Porthos under his breath. “If anything goes wrong-”

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” insisted Athos. “We’ll see you in a couple of hours.” 

He then pushed Raoul close enough to Porthos for father and son to say goodbye to each other. 

“You look after Mr Penguin and Daddy for me,” said Porthos, resting his hand on the baby’s head. “I’ll see you very soon and we can all have a big cuddle.”

“Pa,” said Raoul who was distracted, trying to get the glove puppet to move and frowning when it refused to play with him. “Bye.”

It was horrible watching Porthos being wheeled off down the corridor and for an embarrassing moment Athos had to fight back the tears.

“Come on, little man,” he said, pulling himself together. “Let’s you and me go sit in the sunshine and have some elevenses. You must be hungry after sicking up your breakfast all over Porthos."

Cheering himself up with a ginger flavoured coffee and a pastry filled with marzipan, Athos sat on a bench in the hospital grounds and handed Raoul a biscuit.

“They don’t even have a playground for you,” he said. “I’ll take you for a walk to see the flowers in a minute.”

“Ca,” said Raoul, pointing at the road.

“Clever boy,” said Athos and his thoughts turned to Porthos. “I hope Papa’s okay.”

The ringing of his phone made him jump and expecting it to be Constance or Annette, he was surprised to see an unknown number on the screen. 

“Hello?” he said tentatively.

“I’m phoning from Bermuda to wish Raoul a happy birthday,” said the unmistakable voice of Marie. “Is he having a lovely time?”

Athos frowned. “Could you ring back later,” he said. “We’re at the hospital. Porthos is in surgery and I’m waiting for a call from his mother.”

“I see,” said Marie in an icy voice. “May I at least say hello to my son.”

“He’s one year old, Marie,” snapped Athos. “The only thing he does with phones is chew them to death. Goodbye.” 

Disconnecting in a fit of temper, he shoved the mobile back into his pocket. “Bloody woman,” he muttered and couldn’t help smiling when he noticed that Raoul was eyeing him in that stern de la Fère manner. “Sorry, but your mother’s a pain in the arse and she always has been. Still, if I hadn’t slept with her then we wouldn’t have you so I should try and be more forgiving of her faults.” Unfastening the pushchair harness he lifted Raoul out. “Let’s go and look at the roses. They’re edible, I believe, and probably tastier than daisies.”

Three hours was an eternity when the man you loved was in theatre under the surgeon’s knife. Fractious at not having the freedom to play, Raoul cried loudly and Athos spent ages trying to pacify him, relieved when the little boy finally gave in and sobbed himself to sleep. Once all was quiet, Athos made his way back to the reception area of the day ward and waited, sick with nerves, nudging the pushchair with his foot to make sure Raoul didn’t wake up and start wailing again.

As the clock ticked away the minutes, Athos journeyed down an inevitable road to panic. The three hour mark had been and gone and he’d long since finished leafing through the pile of gossip magazines on the table next to him, amazed at what kind of horrifying ‘true life’ stories were contained within their covers. 

Now his eyes were steadfastly fixed on the elderly woman behind the desk, unnerving her with his gaze. Should he go up and ask? He’d done that once already and had received a frosty reception, but that had been at least ten minutes ago.

Taking in deep breaths he chewed at what was left of his nails, wondering what could go wrong during a simple minor operation. Porthos wasn’t even having a general anaesthetic. He’d been on the operating table for four hours now. This was ridiculous. Worried and bad tempered, Athos stood up and paced the room, wheeling the pushchair back and forth.

“You look like an expectant father,” came a familiar voice from behind him. “As far as I know I’m not having a baby.”

Porthos was dressed and walking towards them, albeit with a slightly awkward gait. His arm was in a sling, elbow covered in a neat dressing.

Athos had never been so relieved to see someone in his whole life. Dumbstruck, he stared at Porthos, taking in the wonderful sight. He’d convinced himself that something dreadful had happened.

“Do I get a kiss?” said Porthos. “Or are you just going to stand there like a lemon for the rest of the day?”

Careful not to cause any pain, Athos pressed a hand to the small of Porthos’ back and inclined his head until their mouths touched. It may have been just a peck on the lips, but it was the best kiss ever.

“Everything went well?” he asked.

Porthos nodded. “It still hurts. They drilled a hole in my elbow, so it's going to, yeah, but it’s a different kind of pain now. Before the op it was like really bad toothache. You know the sort that stops you from even being able to think?” 

Athos nodded, letting his hand come to rest on Porthos’ hip, reluctant to let go just yet. 

“But then it started going numb off and on.” Porthos shivered. “And I was beginning to think the whole arm had had it.”

“I promised you we’d get it fixed,” said Athos. “You should have more faith in me.”

“You, I trust,” grinned Porthos. “It’s the bloody doctors I have problems with. Anyway, stop jabbering and take me home. I need a proper cuddle and some food, though not necessarily in that order. I’m bloody starving.”

“I made Raoul a birthday cake yesterday,” said Athos. “You can help him blow out the candles.”

Porthos bent down to look at the little chap in the pushchair, still fast asleep but with tear stained rosy cheeks.

“He give you a hard time?”

“He missed you,” said Athos in a low voice. “As did I.”

“Come on.” Porthos stood upright and stole another kiss from Athos. “I need some quiet time with my boys.”

Raoul woke up as soon as they reached the car, grumbling in an endless stream of baby talk about this and that, probably annoyed at having to sit in the back again. He enjoyed riding shotgun best, but there was no way Porthos could squeeze into the rear seats of the Renault.

“We’ll have to go shopping for baby stuff soon,” said Porthos as Athos hefted the seat into position with difficulty, not helped by Raoul kicking his legs. “He needs a new car seat and a better pushchair. He’s getting too big for these.”

“I was thinking about a more fun kind of shopping we could do once we get home,” replied Athos as he latched the seat belt, laughing as Porthos pinched his arse. “Not that kind of fun.”

“Oh.” Porthos sighed with theatrical disappointment. “Now you’ve gone and got me all worked up.” Athos stood up to shut the rear passenger door and Porthos used his body weight to barge him up against the car. “You’ll suffer for it later.” He nipped at Athos’ mouth, tugging softly at the lower lip and then diving in for kisses.

“I’ll suffer you gladly,” said Athos, once they’d pulled apart. “Every bit of you.”

A discordant combination of Raoul’s caterwauling and Athos’ generic ringtone forced them to move, albeit sluggishly, away from each other.

It was Constance calling to see how Porthos was. “You said you’d tell me as soon as he was out of theatre,” she complained.

“We’re haven’t even left the hospital grounds yet,” said Athos. “You’re worse than his mother.”

“I know I’m a fusspot, but did everything go as planned?”

“It did,” Athos reassured her. “I’ll phone later once we’re home. Right now I’ve got two men who need feeding and they’re going to start creating if I don’t do something to remedy the situation.”

“Okay, lovey. I’ll talk to you soon,” said Constance. “Give them a big kiss from me.”

“I will,” said Athos, hanging up.

“A year ago I’d never have pegged you as a man most likely to become a gay parent with a loopy girlfriend for a best mate,” chuckled Porthos. 

Athos gifted him with a stern glance sideways. “Call your mum. Just because she hasn’t nagged us doesn’t mean she isn’t worried about you.”

The traffic was the usual nightmare and it took him a full ten minutes to pull out of the hospital car park, but he didn’t care. Just listening to Porthos chattering away to Annette and then Guillaume filled him with contentment.

Back at the flat, he changed Raoul’s nappy and then boiled an egg and made toast for his tea, whilst Porthos pottered around, putting candles on the cake and swiping his finger repeatedly across the ganache to test it for flavour and consistency.

“He’s going to get in a right mess eating this,” he warned.

Athos aimed an amused look his way. “I doubt it because there won’t be any icing left by the time he’s finished his dinner.”

“I’m famished,” grumbled Porthos. 

“I’ll make you some food as soon as I’ve seen to him,” said Athos. “He might be the smallest, but he’s definitely the noisiest.”

“Not always,” growled Porthos, moulding himself against Athos’ back and nipping at his earlobe. “I think we make quite the racket ourselves at times.”

Athos pushed back against him. “You’re all teeth today,” he said. “I like it.”

“I’ll have a proper nosh on you later,” replied Porthos. “Once I’ve had my tea and some painkillers.”

“Down boy,” said Athos. He too was looking forward to some grown up fun, but the most important thing was nursing Porthos back to full strength. “There’ll be time enough for that once you’re fit. I’ve got an idea of something you can be doing whilst I’m putting the monkey to bed.”

“I’m not in the mood for flying solo,” grinned Porthos.

Athos shook his head in amused despair. “Do you want to hear my idea or not?” he said, spooning egg yolk into the baby’s mouth.

“I do. I’ll be as good as gold.” Porthos beamed at him.

“How would you like to go on holiday?” said Athos. “Not too far because Raoul will be a nightmare, but we could manage Italy or Greece. Maybe the Balearics.”

He’d been thinking this over for a while and had come to the conclusion that it would be the perfect birthday treat for all of them. Porthos deserved some pampering after the hell he’d been through and Raoul would love the swimming pools and beaches.

“Really?” Porthos was brimming over with enthusiasm and resembled an overexcited puppy. “I’ve travelled a lot because of work, but I’ve never been on a proper holiday abroad before.”

“Then we’ll definitely do it,” said Athos. With the egg shell empty and the toast in chewed up lumps all over the floor, he cleared up and then lit the candles on the chocolate cake. Keeping the fire well away from Raoul’s inquisitive fingers, he and Porthos sang Happy Birthday to him and together they blew out the flames.

“I wish I’d had him for the whole year,” said Athos, sad all of a sudden that he hadn’t been around at the beginning of Raoul’s life, conception aside. “I feel as if I’ve been neglectful.”

“You’re the best dad ever,” said Porthos. “And me and the monkey love you loads.”


	20. Chapter 20

Choosing a holiday destination hadn’t been the easiest of tasks. Athos would have been quite happy staying in one of those luxury fincas in the Spanish hills, lounging by the pool and reading a book, but with Porthos and Raoul to take into consideration things became more complicated.

Luckily, the small hotel in Minorca had turned out to be perfect. It was situated near the beach with a couple of beautiful swimming pools that were suitable for babies and adults. It had activities to keep Porthos, man of action, amused, although Athos insisted with great determination that windsurfing and water-skiing were out of bounds for him. They may have allowed enough time for his wound to heal before holidaying, but there was no point in him over exerting himself and going back to square one. Even with the more strenuous activities on the banned list, that still left scuba diving and jet skiing, plus a whole host of other land based sports to keep him entertained.

“I’ll look after Raoul this afternoon, love. You go and do something cultural,” said Porthos as he bounded over to them, full of energy, having just returned from a trip into the nearby town with the group of new friends he’d made. 

Being an antisocial sod and never prone to jealousy, Athos was quite content to let him go off and have fun with other people. It suited them both down to the ground.

“To be honest, I’m happy here,” he replied. Raoul loved the splash area and the soft play and he especially enjoyed all the free ice cream. He was currently sitting in a plastic chair under the beach umbrella, covered from head to toe in vanilla and strawberry gloop. “You go have a game of five a side.”

“We could all do something together,” suggested Porthos hopefully. “They have a museum in town.”

“And we have bigger and better ones in Paris,” said Athos, stretching and yawning like a cat. “How about you look after Raoul whilst I have a nap, then later we’ll go down to the cove and have dinner at that little seafood restaurant?”

“You’re a proper lazybones,” said Porthos kissing the back of Athos’ neck as he stretched out on his belly in the sun. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” murmured Athos. “Now go be a good father and play in the splash pool with our boy.”

“He’s still busy smearing ice cream all over himself,” said Porthos, glancing at the babe in his highchair. Leaning in close, he rubbed sun lotion in smooth circles onto Athos’ back. “You smell gorgeous. I could eat you up.”

“Feeling frisky are we?” said Athos, turning his head and smiling.

“Aren’t I always?” Porthos edged closer to show Athos exactly how much. “Put it this way, I ain’t going to be standing up in these shorts real soon. I’ll get arrested for indecency.”

“You can be as indecent as you like once Raoul’s down for the night.” Athos leant up on his elbows, having a good look at the view. Porthos made a prettier picture than any scenic bay in the world.

“Da! Pa!” complained Raoul as the remainder of the ice cream fell onto the tiles and he promptly followed this up by bursting into tears, not caring which parent sorted the disaster out as long as one of them did something to help immediately.

Athos sprang into action, cleaning him with wipes and shushing his tears. “Quiet now, mon petit. Let’s go and play in the water.”

“I thought I was doing the babysitting,” grumbled Porthos.

“And I thought you were in hiding.” Athos raised an amused eyebrow. 

“I’m okay now,” said Porthos. “It’s only when you’re near me that I fall under your spell.”

Athos laughed at the cheesiness of this comment. “We’d better go before Papa starts serenading me with love songs,” he said, picking Raoul up and kissing him on the cheek. He looked around at a sulky Porthos. “Come here, you daft sod. Let’s all have a splash in the pool.”

Once the sun had begun to sink slowly in the sky, they strapped Raoul into his pushchair and went for a walk down to the cove, dropping by their favourite little restaurant to see if they could be squeezed in at such short notice.

An hour later, after a stroll on the beach, they were seated outside on the terrace, enjoying the view and more importantly, the company.

“How rich are you exactly?” asked Porthos as he poured them glasses of wine. “Can we afford to stay here forever?”

“I wish,” said Athos with feeling. Having spent his entire life in the privileged position of never having to think about money, his current situation was the cause of some quiet concern. He’d blown a lot more of his savings than he’d intended on this holiday and was also staring down the barrel of a big maintenance bill for some essential repair work on the apartment building that simply couldn’t be put off any longer.

Porthos’ face fell. “It was just a joke,” he said. 

Reaching across the table Athos took hold of his hand. “I know,” he said. “And if Anne hadn’t been such a grasping cow we’d be set for life. Maybe we should sell up and move to a little cottage here in Minorca. Raoul can be a Spanish water baby. He’d like that.”

“Pipe dreaming won’t help,” said Porthos, as serious as Athos had ever seen him.

“Stop fretting,” said Athos.

“How am I supposed to do that when I can see how much this is worrying you?” said Porthos. “I’ll be working again soon and we can always rent out my flat.”

“We’re not on the breadline yet,” Athos reassured him. “We’re property wealthy. It’s just that that the building is a bit of a drain on my finances at present.” He smiled at Raoul who was crumbling crostini into dust with a very serious expression on his face as if he understood every word of the conversation. “Let’s not spoil our holiday with money talk, eh? We’re all that matters.” 

He raised his glass and Porthos joined in with the toast. “To the happiest gay blokes in the world.”

“The happiest family in the world,” corrected Athos as the waiter arrived with their food.

The meal was simple but outstanding. As Raoul picked out chunks of chicken and vegetables from a bowl of unspiced paella, Porthos and Athos tucked into plates of freshly caught seafood that was dripping in garlic heavy olive oil.

“Good job we’re both having this,” said Porthos. “Because I intend to make a meal of you tonight and I don’t want you hiding from my breath.”

“Believe me, I won’t be hiding from any part of you.” Athos had never felt so alive, or so well loved.

After dinner they wandered back up to the hotel, Athos pushing the buggy with Porthos’ arm draped over his shoulder. Both of them worked hard at keeping Raoul awake for the short journey to their room and once he was tucked up in his travel cot it was time for each other.

Their balcony was secluded and they began the age old dance under the stars, kissing for an eternity, undoing buttons and zips in order to strip each other off, then moving inside before they were completely naked.

As Porthos fell to his knees, Athos shivered at the gentle touch of his fingers which were busy tracing every contour of his body. 

Leaning in, Porthos buried his face and breathed in deeply. “You smell more delicious than ever. See what you do to me.”

Athos looked down to see Porthos’ cock, arched upwards and twitching with arousal. “Gorgeous,” he said, wetting dry lips.

“If I come from doing this,” said Porthos as he bent his head once more. “It’ll be all your fault.”

The first touch of Porthos’ mouth had Athos weak at the knees and, holding onto the door frame for support, he restrained himself from thrusting and let Porthos coax him to new heights, pushing him close to orgasm and then letting him drift slowly back down to earth.

“Can we go to bed now?” he asked, helpless, wanton, needing to be filled until there was no empty part of him left.

Raoul was fast asleep, snuffling away as usual and they wasted no time getting down to business, Athos pushing Porthos onto the mattress, skinning a condom over him then sitting astride that muscular body and taking his cock into him an inch at a time.

Fingers digging into Athos’ hips, Porthos fastened his gaze on him, turning ever more serious as they began to fuck, forceful and silent with just the slick sound of lubed skin and the slap of bodies as a soundtrack. Arching back to increase the pleasure Athos rode him hard, his own cock bouncing free, pulsing with energy, sperm rising as he canted his hips and came in a room spinning, dizzy making climax.

“You bloody beauty,” breathed Porthos, deliriously happy until Athos climbed off him and removed the condom. “You bloody great tease,” he amended this to as Athos spread out supine on the bed, arms and legs akimbo as he smiled up at Porthos. 

“Come over me. I want to watch.”

“Anything for you.” Grinning once again Porthos straddled him, lubing up and wrapping a palm around his cock. “Enjoy the show.”

He loved nothing more than to perform and, high on adrenaline and sex, he worked himself up until beads of sweat glistened as he rocked into the circle of his fist, talking in a low voice, telling Athos how much he wanted, needed, loved him. How beautiful he was. How perfectly they fitted together in all ways. 

When Porthos finally came, spattering wet and hot all over him, Athos was so desperately turned on again, hard and ready for more, that he could do nothing else but beg to be touched.

What followed on from this was a long and spectacular night of sex which set a trend for the few remaining days of their stay, during which they made the most of each other whenever Raoul was asleep.

The holiday drew to its inevitable conclusion. Those three weeks spent on this little Spanish island had been a taste of paradise, both men able to dismiss the months of worry that that had consumed the entire first half of the year. They said goodbye to the owners of the hotel, promising to return as soon as possible, and Raoul, who had delighted in the beaches, pools and ice cream, became a bad tempered little beast for the entire journey home, causing Athos no end of embarrassment on the plane as he screamed until he was actually sick.

Problems came to the fore as soon as they set foot on French soil. Having not yet bothered to renegotiate his contract to include data roaming, Athos had kept his phone switched off during the holiday, knowing that if any situations arose he could be contacted through Porthos.

There was one person, however, who didn’t have Porthos’ number, and as far as Athos was concerned she would never be given access to it.

“Marie,” he said as he lugged a sleepy little boy into the flat. “How nice to hear from you.”

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “We’d made arrangements.”

“We’d done no such thing,” objected Athos, handing the baby to Porthos and pacing the hallway. “You asked if it would be possible to see Raoul when you got back from Bermuda and I agreed to your suggestion. That was all.”

“Where have you been for the last month?” she snapped for the second time.

“We went on holiday,” said Athos. “I assume we’re allowed, or do I have to ask your permission first?”

“If you’re taking my son out of the country then yes you do.”

“The son you abandoned a year ago.”

Sensing a growing atmosphere, the baby began to wail and Porthos, who knew Athos very well after all their ups and downs, could tell he was about to lose his cool and counselled him silently by shaking his head.

Athos took a deep calming breath and continued. “I apologise for not letting you know. I had a lot on my mind with Porthos in hospital. The trip to Minorca was a last minute decision.”

“I understand,” said Marie, her tone still glacial. “I’d like to visit next week if possible. Would Tuesday suit?”

Athos looked at the calendar on the wall. “Raoul has baby clinic in the morning and a birthday party in the afternoon, but we’re free all day Wednesday.”

“I have a meeting in Brussels,” she said. “Perhaps Friday afternoon?”

“Friday will suit,” said Athos. He usually spent the day with Constance, but that wasn’t set in stone. “We’ll see you then.”

Hanging up the phone he was more relaxed than he had been at the start of the call, but still extremely tense after the journey from hell and now this bombshell.

“Why?” he said sinking down onto the sofa, his head in his hands.

“Because Raoul’s a curiosity to her,” said Porthos. “That’s all. It’ll be a nine days wonder. Once she has to change one of his dirty nappies she’ll run straight for the hills.” He sniffed the air around him. “Talking of which,” he added, passing the baby back. “Here, have a present.”


	21. Chapter 21

Having prepared himself mentally for a visit from Marie, Athos opened the door and was shocked to find that both the Michons were waiting on the doorstep. It was an awkward situation to say the least.

“De la Fère,” said Duke in an artificially pleasant tone, his accented voice loud and grating. “How are you?” He held out his hand.

“Good, thank you,” said Athos, hoping that his palm wasn’t as sweaty as it felt. Leading them through into the living room, he looked helplessly at Porthos who was holding the baby, both of them eyeing the strange man suspiciously and awaiting an introduction.

“This is my partner Porthos and Raoul of course,” he said, trying to collect both thoughts and words. “Duke is Marie’s husband.”

Marie immediately honed in on the baby. “He’s a little tanned, Athos. I hope you didn’t let him out in the sun too much while you were away.”

“He has a special all in one swimsuit,” said Athos, wondering why on earth he was justifying his actions to this woman. “I know how to look after him.”

“Of course you do,” said Duke, coming over to examine Raoul who pointed at him and chuckled. “He sure is a cute little guy.”

“Can I make everyone a coffee?” asked Athos, hiding behind a wall of politeness. When the answer was yes he sneaked off to the kitchen, leaning back against the door and trying to force waves of panic into submission. He could hear Porthos in the background, reeling off Raoul’s achievements and doing a perfect job of singing their praises as parents, and thanked god for him and his coping skills.

“Everything’s okay,” he muttered, repeating it like a mantra as he filled a tray with mugs, milk, sugar and cafetiere. “How was Bermuda?” he asked as he returned to the living room, placing the tray on the table and putting Raoul into his playpen, out of harm’s way.

“Lovely,” said Marie. “We stayed in Hamilton with the Bourbons as usual. Do you remember those parties we used to go to at the yacht club? Anne still spends as much time out there as she can manage.”

“I’m sure she does,” said Athos.

“Have you seen her recently?”

You know we have, thought Athos, angry at this whole pretence. His ex wife would have delighted in telling Marie the gossip. “Yes, we bumped into her in the Musée d’Orsay just after Christmas.”

“Athos likes to teach Raoul about all the artists,” boasted Porthos. “That’s why he’s so advanced for his age.”

“And what do you do, Porthos?” said Duke. “For a living, I mean.”

“I’m an actor,” said Porthos. “Just finished doing a film a couple of months ago as a matter of fact.”

“The injury must have been a hindrance to your career,” said Marie, walking over to the playpen. Raoul held out his arms to her and smiled. 

Traitor, thought Athos as she picked him up.

“My arm’s much better now,” said Porthos. ”The operation was a total success and my agent’s lining up auditions for me as we speak.”

“He’s never usually out of work,” added Athos.

“That’s good news,” said Duke. “It must be hell not knowing where your next pay check is coming from.”

“Money’s hardly a problem for us,” said Athos, aloof and guarded with his words. 

“Still, we’d like to pay you some maintenance costs,” said Marie. “To cover the past year.”

“Not necessary,” said Athos. “Raoul’s my son.”

“ _Our_ son,” corrected Marie and then she turned those ice blue eyes onto Athos, attacking him with the sentence that he’d been dreading since their arrival. “And from now onwards I’d like to see him on a more regular basis.”

Athos turned instinctively to Porthos and they stared at each other in consternation. _No_ , was what he wanted to say. _No. Absolutely not. Go away. Get out of here now._ He felt physically sick watching her hold his son. Coo over his son. Not just his though, because Raoul belonged to both him and Porthos. Raoul was _their_ child and had nothing to do with the Michons. 

Unfortunately though that wasn’t the case, because despite however much he hated the idea, Marie would always be Raoul’s mother. “I suppose that would be acceptable,” he said. “One Saturday a month.”

“Every other weekend,” responded Duke. “With overnight stays.”

Jesus Christ! Bartering over a child was disgusting. Athos surged with fury and then tamped it down for the sake of his family. “Two Saturdays a month, depending on whether he settles with you,” he said coolly. “Otherwise the arrangement is off.”

“He’s settling fine right now,” said Marie, who still had Raoul in her arms.

“It’s not as easy when he’s tired, or sick, or simply in a temper.” Athos chewed at a nail.

“Are you saying that you don’t find it easy being a parent?” asked Duke.

“It’s never _easy_ being a parent,” said Porthos, ready for a fight. “And if you think it’s going to be then you’re in for a bloody great shock. We love Raoul and we look after him really well so don’t try and make out any different.”

“I wasn’t,” replied Duke, stepping up to the battle lines Porthos had drawn. “And I apologise, regardless of the fact that you deliberately misunderstood my words.”

The two men were on a par height wise, but Athos would put all his money on Porthos if the confrontation came to blows. Not that it ever would. Today was all about repressed anger: Duke furious at Athos for sleeping with his wife, Athos enraged that the Michons were trying to interfere after so long, Porthos angry at them for hurting his family. But then Athos remembered that stuck in the middle of all this was an innocent baby whose needs were simple -- to be loved and cared for by everyone.

“You can have him to stay for the night next Saturday and we’ll see how things progress from there,” he said, holding out his arms to Raoul, who jiggled with delight and reached for him, his little hands clutching at the air.

“Da.”

“Daddy’s here,” said Athos, taking him and holding on tight, never wanting to let go.

“Tomorrow would suit us better,” said Marie, always pushing for more.

“No,” said Athos firmly. “You need to baby proof your house before he can stay. A one year old is very different to a new-born. Raoul walks, he climbs, he’s very inquisitive and we need to be certain that he’ll be safe with you.”

“Very well,” conceded Marie. “We’ll pick him up next Saturday at ten.”

“No,” said Athos. “We’ll drop him off at yours and make sure he’s going to be okay.”

Discussions now over, there followed a round of ultra polite goodbyes after which Porthos showed them to the front door. Athos watched Marie depart, her elegant gait a reminder of times past when he would traipse around behind her and Anne like a well bred lap dog. They’d never once considered his needs and he’d been far too infatuated with his wife to speak up for himself, but things were different now. If they wanted to see Raoul then the onus was on them to prove that they were responsible enough to do so. 

“They’ve gone,” said Porthos, returning to the living room and letting loose a deep sigh of relief. “And good riddance.”

After just forty five minutes of negotiation the Michons were currently speeding across Paris in their Bentley, back to that gold plated mansion in the heart of the suburbs.

For a long time Athos could do nothing but cling to his son, stunned into an unhappy silence.

“You had no choice, darling,” said Porthos, sitting next to them on the sofa. 

“I know,” said Athos. “And it’s the best thing for him.” Raoul squeezed in between them, trying to mountaineer up the back of the couch. “Unfortunately, it also happens to be the worst thing in the world for us.”

“Michon’s not interested in Raoul--he hardly looked at him the whole time he was here--and Marie’ll get bored soon enough,” said Porthos, retrieving Raoul from the north face of the Eiger and sitting him on his lap. “We’re different though. We’ll never get fed up of our monkey, however naughty he might be.” 

Neither one mentioning to the other how dreadful it would be to pack Raoul’s bag and drop him off at the home of a relative stranger, they made the most of the following week, taking the baby on day trips, here, there and everywhere. They went on repeat visits to the zoo and Disneyland and also, now that the weather was warmer, they took him to the Paris Plages with its paddling pools, faux beaches, and splash zones, making sure that he didn’t get exposed to too much sun.

“I don’t want to think about work,” said Porthos as they sat in the shade of a beach umbrella eating sandwiches. “I’ll have to go away and I hate leaving you.”

Athos filled in the missing words at the end of the sentence. Porthos assumed that he was going to fall apart at having to hand Raoul over to Marie for two nights a month, but he was determined that wasn’t going to happen. Porthos’ love and solid dependability had forged him into someone much stronger than the wreck he used to be. “We’ll survive,” he said with a smile. “Besides, you’ll be glad to be away from here when work starts on the building. You’ll take any job you can get to escape the noise. I bet you’ll be advertising Tena pants for men rather than come home.”

“Cheeky bastard,” said Porthos, lunging at him and rolling him over in the grass. With Raoul secured in his new pushchair, throwing chunks of bread at the pigeons, they took a short timeout from parenthood, kissing lazily and basking in the sunshine.

“Love you,” said Athos during the intermission.

“Backatcha,” replied Porthos, leaning up on an elbow, his eyes alive with warmth.

The dreaded Saturday rolled around all too quickly and Athos was shaking as he packed Raoul’s new penguin rucksack with some of his favourite toys. He then filled a holdall with clothes, wondering what else the baby would need to take with him.

In the end he phoned Marie to find out. “What should we bring?” he asked.

“We have everything,” she replied frostily. “You’re already late. Duke’s furious.”

“This has nothing to do with him,” said Athos.

“Don’t be ridiculous; he’s my husband,” snapped Marie. “Now hurry up.”

Athos had so much to say in response to this, but he took heed of Porthos’ repeated cut throat movements and ended the call before things turned even more sour.

“No point starting off on the wrong foot,” said Porthos. “We’re doing this for Raoul.”

With jaw firmly fixed, Athos fastened the buckles on Raoul’s shoes and then handed him his tiny rucksack.

“Pens,” said Raoul, looking hopefully up at both his dads.

“Not today,” said Athos. “Maybe tomorrow when we pick you up from Mama’s house.” The word stuck in his craw.

The Michons may not have lived far away in terms of distance, but in every other way it was like visiting another planet. 

“How are we supposed to compete with this?” said Athos as the huge electric gates swung open to allow their battered Renault entry.

“It’s not a competition,” said Porthos as he parked in front of the nouveau riche paradise. “Anyway, this place is tacky. I’d’ve thought she would have had more taste being from old money.”

“Neither of them are that,” snorted Athos. “Dear god! Look at the lions.”

The statues were six feet high and guarded either side of the grand entrance porch.

“You took your time, de la Fère,” called Duke, standing at the threshold with his arms folded.

“It must be the butler’s day off,” muttered Porthos under his breath. 

Athos smirked. “Traffic was dreadful,” he said, by way of explanation as he lifted Raoul and his rucksack out of the car seat, moving the plastic steering wheel to one side.

“Line,” said Raoul, patting the statue as he passed by.

“He _is_ a clever mite,” said Marie, reaching out for the baby. “Aren’t you a precious little man?” she said once she’d got hold of him.

Not so precious a year ago, thought Athos as he remembered her turning tail and running away, leaving him and Raoul to fend for themselves.

“He loves going to the zoo,” explained Porthos. “He knows quite a few animal names.”

“Would you like to inspect the house before you go?” said Duke. “Make sure it’s suitable.”

His tone was condescending and Athos watched Porthos’ hands ball into fists in a mirror of his own. They followed Michon through the double doors and into a hallway that was as big as a football pitch with a wide, sweeping staircase that led up to the first floor. There were no gates anywhere to prevent Raoul from exploring.

“Just because your home is big it doesn't mean that Raoul’s safe. He could easily fall down the stairs and hurt himself,” said Athos. “You need to keep him out of here. It’s a death trap.”

“We’ll be staying in the visitors’ wing when he’s with us,” explained Marie. “It was easier to childproof at short notice.”

As they entered the guest accommodation, Athos had to concede that she’d taken notice of his directions. The suite was bigger than the entire ground floor of the apartment building on Rue Ferou and every eventuality had been taken into consideration. Raoul would be safe enough here.

“It’ll do,” he said, holding out his arms to the baby who lurched into them, dropping his little rucksack on the way across. “Bye, Raoul. You be a good boy and Papa and I will see you in the morning.”

“We’ll bring him back after lunch,” said Marie.

Duke turned to face her. “We have an invitation to the Rocheforts,” he reminded his wife.

Marie studied Raoul as if weighing up which was more important. “You can pick him up at ten,” she said to Athos, taking possession of the baby once again. “Say goodbye to your father,” she directed imperiously.

“Fathers,” said Porthos with an emphasis on the last letter. He then picked up the rucksack and handed it to Marie. “These are his special toys so don’t go losing them,” he warned as he kissed Raoul on the cheek. “Bye bye, monkey.”

“Bye bye,” sang Raoul waving his little hand at them.

It was almost impossible to walk away and Athos was shaking like a leaf by the time he made it to the car.

“Keep it together,” Porthos advised him in a low voice. “Don’t give any ground.”

By the time Porthos was swinging the Renault out of the gates Athos had bitten his lip so hard that he could taste iron. “I hate them for doing this,” he said, scrubbing at his hair in frustration. “I don’t care what I said before. I can’t be clear headed and rational about this right now.”

“I know,” said Porthos. “D’you want to be totally irresponsible and go get pissed?”

Athos shook his head. “I want you to take me home so we can spend the entire day in bed.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Porthos. “It won’t stop us missing our boy, but we can sure as hell enjoy ourselves while we do it.”


	22. Chapter 22

“Morning, you lot,” said Constance as she waited for them on the pavement outside the apartment building.

“Bup, bup, bup,” said Raoul as Athos pushed the buggy down the steps.

“How did he get on with mommy dearest?” continued Constance.

“He coped fine,” said Athos with a shrug. “Us, less so.”

“I don’t fancy the idea of being away from him every other weekend,” said Porthos. “But, as Ath says, Raoul was okay with it and it’s the best thing in the long run. It’ll be nice for him to know his mother.”

Lily reached across and stole Raoul’s biscuit which started an immediate riot with Constance having to sort matters out by giving Raoul a fresh snack to replace it. It was chocolate and he looked very smug, being careful this time to keep it well away from Lily’s thieving hands.

“There are the odd days when I’d do anything for some peace and quiet,” said Constance. “But I know how difficult it must be when the situation is forced on you.”

Athos nodded. “We love it when Annette and Guillaume babysit for us, but this is very different.”

“You’ll get used to it,” said Constance, giving him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Hurry up or we’ll be late for the Porthos Fan Club.” She winked at the big man. “They must hate the fact that you’re gay.”

By the time they got to the community centre it was bustling with activity and leaving the children with Porthos, all of them being waited on by a stream of minions, Constance and Athos sneaked out back for a crafty Gauloise. She liked the kind of strong French cigarettes that made Athos’ throat burn.

“I have some exciting news,” she said, smoke billowing dragon like from her nostrils. “I’ve finally got a bit on the side.”

“Oh,” said Athos, not really interested in her affairs.

“He’s called d’Artagnan and I met him through Adele. She’s head over heels in love with someone new, a doctor with another ridiculous name, and she’s giving up all her extras, except for Armand Richelieu of course.”

Athos’ mind boggled at the incestuous nature of Parisian social life. If the doctor with the ridiculous name turned out to be Aramis then he’d piss himself laughing.

“You’ll never guess what,” he said to Porthos when they were in bed together that night. “Constance is sleeping with d’Artagnan.”

“Bloody hell,” said Porthos. “I know I only met the kid once, but I’d’ve sworn on the bible he was well and truly queer.”

“You never can tell,” smirked Athos.

“Couldn’t when it came to you, could I?” Porthos sucked a slow trail of kisses downwards, mapping the planes and contours of Athos’ body. 

“Can now,” gasped Athos, arching off the mattress.

“Can indeed,” grinned Porthos. “You’re all mine, every bit of you, and I’m going to kiss every inch to prove it.”

“With pleasure.” Athos carded his fingers through Porthos’ hair, knowing, with certainty, that neither of them had the slightest desire for any of Adele’s cast offs, or anyone else for that matter. 

Several months passed by uneventfully, both Athos and Porthos celebrating their birthdays during this peaceful time with simple family meals. All three of them were adjusting to Raoul’s fortnightly visits with his mother and Athos had even begun to enjoy having regular date nights that involved ambitious sexual adventures where restraint was unnecessary. He got hard just thinking of the things they got up to when they were alone.

Today, however, was not one of those couples days. The weather had turned bitterly cold and all three of them were barricaded indoors. Raoul was grumpy, unable to sleep because of the racket the builders were making and, if anything, Porthos was in a worse mood than the baby.

“Are they ever going to finish those repairs?” he complained, glaring out of the window as the project manager, Treville, passed by. He was a kind man and was bending over backwards to try and get the works finished as soon as possible, but today that wasn’t good enough for Porthos.

“It’s a big building,” said Athos. 

“And by the time they’re done we’ll be deaf as well as bankrupt,” grumbled Porthos.

“Nanananana,” said Raoul, doing a good impression of the endless string of complaints from his papa.

“You can shut up and all,” muttered Porthos, looking devastated when he realised what he’d said. “I’m sorry.” He slumped down next to Athos, latest script in hand. “I need to learn this by this afternoon or that’s one job I won’t be getting.”

“You already know it word for word,” reassured Athos. “You have a bath--it’s quieter in there--and afterwards I’ll go through your lines with you so you can stop getting worked up.”

“You’re a proper angel of mercy,” said Porthos, kissing him on the lips. He then picked Raoul up off the play mat from where he was trying unsuccessfully to connect a row of Duplo bricks together. “Your daddy is the best man ever.”

“Dada,” replied Raoul.

Plonking the baby onto Athos’ knee he grinned and stood up. “I’m off for my bath. By the way, somebody around here needs changing and it ain’t me.”

“Do you do this on purpose?” asked Athos sternly, turning Raoul to face him. “I put a new nappy on you not fifteen minutes ago and now you’re all smelly.”

Chuckling throatily Raoul tried to wriggle free, but Athos was used to his antics by now and swung him onto the changing mat, cleaning him up and getting him dressed without allowing him to get away with any nonsense. “We’ll have to think about potty training soon,” he said. “Maybe you’ll be a genius at toilets and I won’t have to do this much longer.”

Taping up the dirty nappy he put it into the waste bag to deal with later and wiped himself clean. 

“Daddy needs to wash,” he said, picking Raoul up and carrying him through to the kitchen then placing him in his high chair. “There, all sorted now,” he said, drying his hands and he was about to pass Raoul a rusk when the bell rang.

“I wonder who that is,” he said, picking the baby up again and going to answer the door.

Expecting it to be Treville with a question about the building repairs, he was taken aback to see the Michons standing at the threshold.

“There’s no easy way to say this, de la Fère,” said Duke, handing him an envelope which the baby immediately tried to snatch. “This is a custody order from the family court. We’ll be taking Raoul today.”

“Mama,” said Raoul, waving his hand and inclining his whole body towards Marie.

Athos held him tightly in place. “What do you mean?” he asked, frightened, bewildered, sick from the onset of panic.

“He’s my son,” said Marie. “Duke and I will be bringing him up from now on. You’ll be given the same visitation rights you allowed us.” She stared around her at the build up of dust and dirt in the hallway. “Once the place is habitable.”


	23. Chapter 23

“No! You can’t do this. Marie, you can’t take him away from me.” Athos clutched Raoul. “Please. I’ll do anything,” he begged. “Please don’t take him.”

“You can’t bring a child up in these circumstances,” said Duke. 

Athos opened wide the door of the flat. “It’s fine in here,” he said. “You can see for yourself. The building work is all being carried out externally. It’s safe and clean inside. If you disagree we can always go and live with Porthos’ parents until it’s finished.”

Porthos emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of sweatpants. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

“It’s not only the state of the building that’s the issue,” said Duke letting his gaze fall deliberately onto Porthos.

Panic giving way to fury, Athos handed the baby over to Porthos then opened the envelope, extracting the documents that were stamped with the official markings of the justice department. He scanned through them. There were no specific details mentioned. It simply stated that in the best interests of the child, Raoul Thomas de la Fère, custody had been awarded to the mother, Marie Chevreuse Michon, and that the father, Olivier Athos de la Fère, would forthwith be granted visitation rights of two days per calendar month with overnight stays when appropriate. Custody was granted with immediate effect.

“Tell me what’s going on?” demanded Porthos. “This ain’t one of your Saturdays so bugger off.”

“They’re taking Raoul,” said Athos in a monotone. “They have all the correct paperwork. According to this, we’re no longer his custodial parents.”

“No,” snarled Porthos. “You’re not having him. You think you can just show up for a couple of months then breeze in and snatch him from us. He’s our son. We’ve taken him to hospital when he’s been sick and we’ve stayed up at night when he’s been teething.” He squared up the Michons, accusations flowing freely. “When’s he due his next vaccination? Do either of you know that? No? Well, we do. Simple question then, how much does he weigh? How tall is he? Does he have any developmental issues? You don’t know anything about him and we’re not handing him over to you as if he’s some bloody parcel left with a neighbour.” Finally running out of steam, he looked from Duke to Marie, his voice breaking in distress. “He’s our son.”

“He’s my son not yours,” replied Marie, unmoved by that huge outpouring of emotion.

“Porthos,” said Athos quietly. “I’m afraid we have no choice.”

Porthos backed away from them, a wounded animal trapped in a corner with the baby in his arms, looking at Athos as if he was the traitor in all this. How could he not know that Athos was every bit as broken as he was? 

“Give us until tomorrow, “ Porthos begged and Raoul, sensing a huge change in the atmosphere, began to sob in distress.

“Please,” said Athos carefully. “It’s the least you can do.”

“No,” said Marie. “He comes with us now.”

“If you refuse to comply with the order then we have every right to call the police,” added Duke.

“Go ahead and call them,” snarled Porthos. “We’re not giving him up.”

Athos took Raoul from Porthos, breathing in the smell of baby shampoo and something slightly hamster like that was the baby’s own distinctive scent. “Shush,” he said quietly. “Daddy’s here.”

“Sss,” said Raoul. “Dada.”

Ignoring Duke, Athos stared at Marie. “Have you ever known me to be anything but an honourable man?” Twisted up inside, he wanted to spit accusations at the pair. To level cruel truths at them and attack them with poison, but he knew it would do no good. The judge had already decided in the Michons’ favour. “Even at my lowest ebb, I’ve always done my duty.” Kissing the baby one last time, he handed him over to Marie. “This is not the end of the matter.”

“Don’t you bloody dare,” cried Porthos as Marie turned to leave with Raoul gazing at them from over her shoulder, his face stained with tears, his eyes huge. “No.”

Athos placed himself in between Porthos and the Michons, taking his partner in his arms and holding firm. “We can’t do anything about this now until I speak to a lawyer. Please don’t give them any extra ammunition,” he said under his breath.

Porthos stared at him, his eyes wide. “How can you be so bloody heartless?”

Stunned, Athos let go of him and Porthos charged after the Michons who by now had strapped the baby into his seat and were preparing to drive off.

“You’re not taking our son,” yelled Porthos, stepping out in front of the car and it was only thanks to the quick thinking of Treville, the project manager of the building works, who pulled him out of danger at the last second, that he wasn’t run over. 

Athos watched from the pavement, all of this happening frame by frame as his world disintegrated around him.

“Enough of that, young man,” said Treville to Porthos. “No need to get yourself killed over it. That won’t help anyone.”

Porthos sank down onto the steps, nursing his arm. “If you’d finished the work on time,” he said, his words petering out to silence.

Athos sat next to him surrounded by rubble, a cloud of brick dust billowing around them. It was a scene of total devastation. “I tried my best to stop this,” he said in an attempt to justify his failure. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” said Porthos, capturing Athos’ hand in his. “I didn’t mean what I said to you. I know you’re hurting just as much as I am. Much more because you’re his father.”

“So are you,” said Athos and meant it.

Porthos squeezed his fingers. “What do we do now?”

“You have an audition to prepare for,” replied Athos. All they had left were the mundanities of life.

“They can stuff it,” said Porthos. “It won’t be the first one I’ve missed.”

“If it helps,” said Treville, pacing in front of them, hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve used Cardinal Law in the past over a custody matter and they were good.”

Athos’ lips twisted into a wry smile. “Thank you,” he replied, “but I imagine Richelieu’s people will be working for the other side.”

“You have a law degree,” said Porthos. “You do it.”

“Unfortunately it’s not that simple,” said Athos, getting to his feet. “Let’s go in and think this through. A coffee with a slug of brandy might help.”

“Especially if we forget the coffee.” Assisted by a helping hand from Athos, Porthos stood up, rubbing a combination of dirt and tears from his face as they retreated inside the broken down building.

“I’ll have this place finished by next month,” called Treville.

“Thank you,” said Athos, glancing over his shoulder at the man. “If you can get it done sooner it would help immensely.”

“I’ll try my best,” said Treville with a nod of farewell. “Good luck.”

As they sat down on the couch, armed with glasses of cognac, Athos could feel a strange vibration travelling through the framework of the furniture. Beneath the surface they were both trembling, probably suffering from the onset of shock.

“Why wouldn’t they give us one day to say goodbye?” said Porthos.

“Because they suspected we might take off with Raoul,” replied Athos matter-of-factly. They were places he knew of where they could spirit the baby away.

“You’d never have done something like that,” said Porthos. “It ain’t your style.”

“Style doesn’t come into it when faced with a desperate situation,” said Athos. “I may have been tempted into doing something stupid and it would have been a mistake,” he admitted. “We’ll get him back the right way. We’re good parents. Any judge will be able to see that, no matter whether our case is heard in children’s or family court. High court, for that matter.”

“What do we do first?” said Porthos.

“I have no idea.” Athos put his glass down. “I assume we need to appeal the decision, but I’m no expert on family law.”

“I reckon you’re smart enough to figure it out,” said Porthos. “You’re the cleverest man I know.”

“I’ll see what I can find out on the internet,” said Athos. He knew exactly where to start looking. His group of friends at Mumsnet had been through some tricky times with ex partners.

Leaving him alone to do research Porthos pottered around the flat, washing up and tidying away the residual mess of a day spent at home with a tot. In the distance, Athos could hear him talking on the phone to his mum and dad and it was only when all fell silent for a while that he began to worry.

He went on a search mission and discovered his partner sitting on the edge of their bed, huddled over in a large ball of misery, and perching next to him, he wrapped an arm around those broad shoulders. “Talk to me, Porthos.”

“I found this under the duvet when I was making the bed,” said Porthos, moving just enough to reveal the glove puppet on his hand. “We were playing with it this morning. How’s he supposed to sleep without it?”

Mr Penguin had become part of their night-time ritual. All his coping mechanisms falling by the wayside Athos slumped, curling into a foetal position as he gave way to a flood of tears. How was he going to survive without his son? For a year and a half Raoul had been his entire world. “He won’t understand any of this,” he gasped. “He’ll be so unhappy. He’ll think we don’t want him.”

“Shit,” said Porthos, pulling Athos to him and holding on tight, helping him weather the storm. “No he won’t, sweetheart. He knows how much we love him. We’ll get him back. I promise you we will. I trusted you to fix my arm. You have to trust me over this, okay?”

“Custody’s almost always awarded to the mother,” said Athos. “The best we can hope for is shared parenting.”

“You said _almost_ always,” said Porthos, rubbing slow circles onto his back. “Marie abandoned him and we brought him up. If that ain't extenuating circumstances then I don’t know what is. Mum reckons we have a bloody good chance of getting him back, especially if we act soon.”

“I should have gone to the courts and got a custody order at the beginning,” said Athos. “I thought about it, but I didn’t want to push Marie into a corner.”

“Well, now she’s pushed us into one,” said Porthos. “And the fight is on.”


	24. Chapter 24

That night they curled up together in bed, clinging onto each other like flotsam in a stormy sea, too distraught to think of sex, even for the sake of comfort. As was the pattern at difficult times of his life, Athos was disturbed by a series of nightmares, one of them so lengthy that it spanned the entire history of Raoul’s youth and ended up with a teenager betrayed and lying dead in a corner of a dank, dark alleyway. 

“Wake up, Athos,” said Porthos, shaking him gently. “It’s just a dream.”

“It was bad,” shivered Athos. “Raoul died hating us.”

“He’ll never hate us,” said Porthos vehemently. “Even now, he gets to see every other weekend, and that’s just for starters.”

“Not until we get the building work finished.” Everything was defeating Athos at the moment.

“Then we’ll take him for days out and we’ll go stay at Mum and Dad’s place,” said Porthos. “There are ways, Ath. Don’t give up.”

“I’ll try not to,” replied Athos, using Porthos’ chest as a pillow. “Thank you.”

“First things first, we start work on our appeal.”

“First things first.” Athos rolled over and smiled at Porthos. “I show you _exactly_ how grateful I am for having you.”

He leaned up on an elbow, kissing Porthos firmly, tongue sliding against tongue in a slow echo of sex until they were aching for each other. Overwhelmed by emotion, connected by mouths, bodies, hearts, Athos rocked against Porthos, reaching down and gripping them tight, the kissing becoming more gentle in nature, brushes of lips and soft sucking until they were sharing the moment and coming together in a rush of love.

Afterwards Porthos stroked Athos’ hair, twisting it around a finger into ringlets. “It won’t be easy, but I promise we’ll get through this,” he said. “And we’ll make them pay.”

Athos agreed wholeheartedly. He’d been too conciliatory, too damn kind, letting the Michons have things all their own way when they’d never once taken Raoul’s needs into consideration, only their own selfish ones. He stuttered in a breath, missing the baby so much it felt as if his heart was slowly being ripped out of his chest.

“None of that,” said Porthos, pulling Athos into a bear hug and calming him down with kisses. “I miss him too, but crying’s not going to get him back. It just makes us weaker. Fighting’s what we have to do. Take it to the mattresses.”

With The Godfather in mind, Athos got up, got showered and got resolutely to work, asking the Mumsnetters a string of questions in preparation and reading up on the specifics of paternal custody cases. They could go into mediation in hope of getting a better resolution without taking the matter to court, but this seemed pointless in their case. He and Porthos had both tried to talk to the Michons but it was like communicating with a granite cliff face. What Marie wanted Marie got, and as far as she was concerned that was how the world worked.

After receiving a quote from a recommended firm of lawyers, Athos reviewed his finances and decided that he had no choice but to take this on himself. Legal packs were available for download. At least the justice department had made it possible for a person to take on the courts singlehandedly, though without an understanding of the law he had no idea how any non qualified person could navigate the system.

“Constance and Lily are here,” said Porthos.

Athos looked up, rubbing his eyes which were sore from staring at the screen for too long. He vaguely remembered hearing a doorbell in the distance.

“I thought we should tell her together,” continued Porthos.

Athos nodded and stood up, leaning over the pushchair to say hello to the little girl. “You’re very smart today, young lady.”

“We were supposed to be going to the museum,” Constance reminded him from above. She didn’t sound reproving but she was certainly concerned. “What’s going on? Where’s Raoul?”

“We can still go out,” Athos heard himself telling her. He felt sick and tired, unsure of what he was supposed to do or say. Carry on at all costs, was the de La Fère way. Don’t waste time with feelings. 

“Sit down before you fall down,” said Porthos gently, guiding him back to the sofa. “The thing is we’ve lost custody of Raoul,” he explained. “We’re going to get him back, but it might take a while. Athos is trying to figure out what to do.”

“Bloody hell,” exclaimed Constance, lifting Lily out of the pushchair and putting her in the playpen. “I knew that woman was trouble the minute I set eyes on her. What grounds have they used?”

“Simply that she’s his mother,” said Athos, sipping from the glass of water that Porthos had handed him. “In the majority of cases it’s enough.”

“But you’re not an ordinary case,” said Constance. “She abandoned him for a year without any contact. She never even wanted to know how he was doing.”

“Which is exactly what I’m basing our appeal on,” said Athos. “There’s not much more I can do except send this off and wait to see the outcome. In the meantime, we have to accept that we only get to see Raoul for two days a month.”

“But it’s not fair,” said Constance, so angry on their behalf that there were tears leaking from her eyes.

“No, it’s not,” agreed Athos. But when had life ever been fair?

Their first visit with Raoul was arranged for the following Saturday and they arrived at the Michon mansion on the dot of nine, ready to reclaim their son.

“Dadadaaaaa,” squealed Raoul, wriggling free of Marie's hand and charging forward into Athos’ waiting arms.

“Be careful there,” warned Porthos, joining in with the family cuddle but looking daggers at Marie over the top of Athos’ head. “He could easily have fallen down that step and hurt himself.”

Marie glared back at him, full of ice and fire, her arms folded angrily. “I’ll be sure to hold onto him more tightly from now on,” she replied.

“So I hear you’ve appealed the decision,” said Duke. “You’re a tenacious pair and I admire that, but you must realise that it won’t do any good. Marie is Raoul’s mother.”

“We’ll see what the courts decide once the social worker has made an assessment,” said Athos, managing to speak in between a plethora of baby kisses. “Porthos and I have nothing to hide.”

“And neither do we,” said Duke, the standoff in place once again.

“Have him back by six tonight,” said Marie.

“By ten tomorrow,” responded Athos pleasantly. “As per the court order.” 

“Your apartment is unsafe,” said Duke.

“We’ll be staying with Porthos’ mum and dad,” countered Athos.

“They’re registered foster parents,” added Porthos. “Their home is good enough for the social so I reckon it should do you.”

With nothing more to say on the matter the Michons grudgingly conceded this round and Athos loaded Raoul into the car seat, his little legs kicking with joy. “He looks well,” he said as he fastened the harness and moved the plastic steering wheel into position.

“Car,” said Raoul.

“He looks happy to see us,” said Porthos, his voice a deep rumble of contentment. “Let’s get out of here quick before their lawyers find some way of stopping this from happening.”

Athos nodded and slammed the car door shut, ready to escape. Needing to be somewhere quiet, to spend time with their son without being disturbed by anyone, they took advantage of the Indian summer and drove to the lake near Gouaix which had a small beach area. They then spent the day making sandcastles and paddling in the shallows with Raoul holding both their hands and jumping in the water, the way he had done on holiday when they’d been a real family.

Afterwards, as they sat on a blanket eating the picnic food Porthos had prepared for their trip out, Athos looked out across the lake and prayed silently that things would return to normal. 

“Pens,” squealed Raoul, watching the geese land and flapping his arms like wings.

“Nearly,” grinned Porthos. “Nice try.”

“A+ for effort,” said Athos, ruffling the baby’s hair.

“Aren’t you going to correct him?” asked Porthos.

“That can wait until he’s ours again.” Athos rolled onto his back and lifted Raoul above him making him giggle. “And that’ll be very soon, won’t it, little man?”

They arrived at Annette and Guillaume’s house, worn out but happy after a perfect day together.

“Hello, chicken,” said Annette, clasping the baby to her bosom. “How’s my favourite grandson?”

Raoul launched into a lengthy and incomprehensible description of all the things that had happened to him, making everyone laugh, and before long he was appropriated by Porthos’ siblings and taken off to play before tea.

“How are you two?” asked Guillaume.

“Tired, miserable, angry,” said Porthos. “But today makes everything much better.”

“It does,” said Athos, keeping an eye on Raoul from the doorway. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the youngsters to look after the baby; it was simply that he couldn’t bear to let him out of his sight. “We’ve lodged all the paperwork with the courts so hopefully we’ll hear something in the near future.”

“They take their time,” warned Annette. “Be prepared to be patient, but remember that the children’s judge is always fair in these matters and will listen to reason. You’re both wonderful at raising that little boy and everyone knows it.”

“Thank you,” said Athos.

After a noisy family meal, ten of them plus a baby squeezed in around the long refectory table, they set up an air mattress and travel cot in the living room and then put Raoul to bed.

“I’m glad I remembered to bring this with us,” said Porthos as Raoul let out a sigh of happiness, discarding his bottle of water and hugging the glove puppet to him like a long lost friend.

“As if you'd forget Mr Penguin,” smiled Athos. He then read story after story from the bookcase full of children’s books, carrying on long after Raoul was asleep and only stopping when Porthos squeezed him on the shoulder.

“Let’s go for a walk while he’s settling down.”

Athos was more than happy to go along with the idea and took solace from being alone with Porthos on such a peaceful night. Sitting in their customary spot on the fallen tree, they held hands and studied the constellations that were on view in the clear night sky.

“It’s been an eventful year,” said Athos, raising an eyebrow.

“Bad things outnumbering the good, for certain,” said Porthos. “But it doesn’t feel like that when I’m with you.” Inclining his head, he kissed Athos softly on the mouth. “Life means so much more to me now.”

“I packed our passports,” said Athos out of the blue. “We could drive out of France tonight. Leave Europe via a less obvious airport. We could take the baby and go.”


	25. Chapter 25

Porthos stared at him and Athos could see the mental cogs turning. “We could go now,” he repeated. “Then we’d never have to play pass the parcel with Raoul again. It wouldn’t hurt him because he hardly knows Marie.”

“It would hurt him a lot if we got caught and he was never allowed to see us again,” said Porthos.

“We wouldn’t get caught,” insisted Athos. “My family owned land abroad. In Costa Rica I think.”

“But do they still own it?” asked Porthos to which Athos shrugged. He was a drowning man clutching at straws. 

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” continued Porthos. “Because do you honestly want Raoul growing up hiding from his own shadow? I know this is hard, Athos, but you said it yourself. We’re bloody good parents. We have every right to stand up at the custody hearing and tell the judge exactly why we should be the ones to raise Raoul.”

“I know you’re right,” muttered Athos, “but I _can’t_ give him back tomorrow. It’ll kill me. I can’t go through this hell over and over again.”

“You can and you will because it’s the only way we’re ever going to get him back permanently,” said Porthos. “We turn up at the Michons’ door like a bad penny, picking him up and dropping him off exactly on time every fortnight without fail. Remember what you said to me about not giving them any ammunition?” He hugged Athos hard enough for the darkness to recede. “I’m not going up for any acting jobs until this is sorted. Work can wait.”

“Are you frightened that I’ll steal the baby and run off to the other side of the world?” said Athos, his face pressed against Porthos’ t-shirt, his words muffled by the thin cotton.

“No.” Porthos sounded adamant. “I know you have more brains than that. I just don’t want either of us to be alone and miserable. It makes sense.”

“It does,” agreed Athos, pulling away from the hug and standing up. “Can we go back to the house now? I need to be sure that Raoul’s okay.”

“You mean you need to gaze at him sleeping,” said Porthos with a smile that was full of love.

“Maybe for a little while,” admitted Athos. “An hour or so should do.” 

In the end it was two men rather than one who stood guard over the baby, only going to bed when they were too tired to stay on their feet any longer.

“It’s been a wonderful day thanks to you and your family,” yawned Athos as he moulded his body against the contours of Porthos’ back. “Goodnight, my darling.”

“Night,” murmured Porthos. “Love you.”

Athos dozed off listening to the snuffling sound of Raoul's baby snores, feeling whole once again and, more to the point, sound of mind.

As expected, the next day wasn’t so wonderful. For the first time ever, Raoul cried when they left him with Marie and Duke and it shattered Athos’ heart into pieces.

“We know he’s safe when he’s there,” Porthos reassured him. “He’s just telling us that he loves us.”

Athos pressed his fingertips to the window, staring out at the blur of trees and houses as Porthos raced away from the suburbs, driving much faster than normal.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Pull over,” said Athos, getting out as soon as Porthos stopped at the side of the road then throwing up the breakfast he’d steadfastly ploughed his way through at Annette’s request.

“Don’t go making yourself ill over this,” said Porthos, handing him a Kleenex from the packet in the glove compartment. “I need you to be strong.”

“Trying,” said Athos, stand back up, his legs shaky. He wiped his mouth with the tissue. “Sorry,” he added managing a weak smile. “It got to me. I won’t let it happen again.”

“I was wellying the car around the corners,” admitted Porthos apologetically. “Probably enough to make you puke. I’ll drive slower from now on.”

It wasn’t the speed of Porthos’ driving that had made Athos ill, but for some reason the excuse had medicinal powers and by the time they were pulling into a parking space in Rue Ferou he was feeling much better. As he got out of the car, he looked up at the towering hulk of a building site that hundreds of years ago had probably once been a grand residence of Paris. The story was that his great great grandfather had won the house in a game of cards, but it didn’t seem likely. The de la Fères weren’t gamblers by nature, not unless the odds were significantly stacked in their favour.

“Home sweet home,” he said, still staring up at the old wreck.

“It’ll look brilliant once it’s finished,” Porthos promised him. “If either of us live long enough to see it.”

“I’ll have another word with Treville tomorrow,” said Athos as he went in and dumped his overnight bag on the table. “This has gone on long enough.”

“I also reckon we ought to keep the place immaculate from now on in case the social worker decides to make a surprise visit,” said Porthos, picking up both their bags then carrying them through to the bedroom.

Athos could hear the sounds of drawers opening and cupboard doors slamming as the unpacking began.

“Do they really do that?” he called, filling the espresso maker.

“Yeah,” said Porthos. “It used to drive my mum round the bend, but it also taught us lot to be prepared for anything.”

From then onwards life became a waiting game and Athos spent every minute of it expecting a knock at the door. In the end, it was the postman who brought them news: a brief letter, all of five lines long, from children’s services, informing them that a social worker would visit them in two days time to carry out an assessment, prior to the hearing, regarding their appeal.

“What do I say?” asked Athos when the appointed time approached. He paced the flat, checking that nothing was out of place and then glared out of the window at the ant like column of builders.

“Don’t rehearse anything,” said Porthos, who was filling in crossword puzzles in a free sample booklet that had arrived with the morning mail. “We know all the answers. She’s only going to ask about Raoul and he’s our specialist subject.”

When the doorbell rang Athos opened up to discover that the female social worker had morphed into a man. He’d built a picture of Ninon de Larroque in his his head, hair swept back into a neat bun as she ticked boxes with an earnest expression on her face, and was vaguely disappointed at not having the opportunity to meet her.

“Good morning,” said the man. “My name is Emile Bonnaire. My colleague is unable to do your assessment so I’ll be taking her place.”

“I hope there’s nothing the matter,” said Athos as he led Bonnaire into the living room.

“Not at all,” said Bonnaire with a sly little laugh. “I shouldn't tell you this but she’s had a falling out with a major law firm in the city and is under investigation. Ninon does like to rock the boat.”

Athos rather liked the sound of this boat rocker and wished that she was here in place of the smarmy Bonnaire who was far too well dressed for a government employee.

“Can I get you a coffee?” said Porthos.

“That would be lovely, au lait with two sugars,” said Bonnaire, consulting his notes and looking up. “You’re Porthos du Vallon?”

“Yeah,” said Porthos. “I’m Athos’ partner.”

“And Raoul’s father,” said Athos. “He’s been helping me bring him up since he was born.”

“And how long have you been together?” asked Bonnaire. 

“A little under a year, but we were friends before that,” explained Athos. “I own the building and Porthos rented the next door flat. We trained together.”

“Down at the gym?” Bonnaire stood up, examining the eclectic collection of artwork on the walls.

Athos shook his head. “We used to go running most days and then he helped me massively when Marie unexpectedly left Raoul here with me.”

“Abandoned him more like,” said Porthos returning with three mugs. 

“That must have been a shock,” said Bonnaire, taking his coffee from Porthos with a nod of thanks.

“It was,” admitted Athos. “But we coped. Like I said, Porthos has been there from the start. He took us to hospital when Raoul was sick. He came with us to clinics. He helped in every way.”

“And then you began a relationship,” said Bonnaire. “How nice.”

“We fell in love,” said Porthos. “It happens when you spend a lot of time with a person and get to know them.”

“This is off the record and personal,” said Bonnaire. ”But I’m simply being nosy.” He leaned in towards Athos. “You’ve been married and Raoul is evidence that you still sleep with women and yet you’re now with Porthos. Is this a permanent switch?”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” Athos stared at him. “And as Porthos already said, we fell in love and it’s very much permanent, but _for_ the record, I have had a relationship with a man before.” A drunken one night stand with d’Artagnan was hardly that, but it still counted for something.

“I apologise,” said Bonnaire. “I like to get to know my clients and I can see that you two are very happy together. I just needed to make certain there were no ulterior motives behind this.”

“None whatsoever,” said Athos, folding his arms. He was unsure of what Bonnaire was implying, but neither of them had anything to hide.

“Now about Raoul,” said Bonnaire. “You share parenting tasks equally?”

“We do,” said Athos. “Although Porthos is a better cook so he does more in the kitchen.”

Bonnaire looked down at his iPad. “I see from the records that Raoul’s progressing well and reaching all his developmental targets ahead of time.”

“He’s a clever boy,” said Athos.

“He’s a joy,” added Porthos. “He’s interested in everything and Athos loves to teach him stuff.”

“That’s excellent,” said Bonnaire. “And what about his social skills?”

“We take him to the baby group at the community centre every Monday morning,” said Athos.

“Oh that must be fun,” chuckled Bonnaire. “A gaggle of clucking women.”

A gaggle was the collective noun for geese and geese didn’t cluck, thought Athos absentmindedly.

“Actually the group’s great,” said Porthos. “We get on really well with everyone. Raoul’s calendar was filled up with birthday parties and trips out, but then the Michons went and put the mockers on all that.”

“I’m here to find out about you,” said Bonnaire. “I understand how difficult this must be, but please try not to be negative.”

Porthos glowered at the telling off and Athos reached over to squeeze his hand. “We’ve made some good friends there,” he explained. “People who still support us now, even though we no longer have Raoul living with us. People that we trust.”

“And what about family?”

“I have no one, but Porthos’ mum and dad are fantastic,” replied Athos. “We take Raoul to their house for his visits whilst the work is being completed on this building.”

Bonnaire consulted his notes once again. “They were your foster family, I believe, Porthos.”

“They were,” said Porthos. “But now they’re my parents and I couldn't ask for better ones.”

“Indeed,” agreed Bonnaire. “They’re well recognised for their extraordinary service. Though this does mean that neither of you have family to depend upon in the traditional sense.”

“Annette and Guillaume _are_ family,” insisted Athos. “Plus we have our friends. What more support could Raoul need?”

“Point taken,” said Bonnaire. “Now are either of you working at present?”

“No,” said Athos. “I intend to focus on bringing up Raoul once we get him back.”

“I’m an actor,” said Porthos. “But I’m not putting myself up for any parts until this business with the Michons is sorted out. I’m here for Athos. We’re here for each other.”

“Admirable,” said Bonnaire. “I was told that you’ve been out of work for a while due to a serious injury to your wrist. It says here that you have some ongoing issues with nerve damage. That must make life difficult when looking after a baby.”

“It was misdiagnosed,” said Porthos. “I was having problems, but I had an operation to fix my elbow a couple of months ago and it’s pretty much back to normal.”

“That’s excellent news,” said Bonnaire, tapping in the information. “One final thing and I’ll leave you in peace. I’ll need copies of financial statements for the courts.”

Athos had never considered this might happen. His trust fund was all but empty and the bank account was vastly overdrawn at present, but he did at least have proof of income. Opening his laptop, he began to print out copies for Bonnaire. “The building work is expensive, but it’s practically paid for now,” he said as he handed them over.

“It’s a nice place to live,” said Bonnaire. “What a shame there’s no garden.”

“We take Raoul out every day,” said Athos defensively. “He likes the Paris Plages. He loved the beach when we took him on holiday so it reminds him of that.”

“Where did you go?” asked Bonnaire. “I’m always looking for recommendations.”

“The Hotel Bianca in Minorca,” said Porthos. “It was beautiful there.”

“It’s a small place, but there’s lots to do,” said Athos and maybe it was an attempt to curry favour but why not? “The swimming pools and beach are perfect and we had a fantastic room overlooking the bay.”

“That sounds delightful,” said Bonnaire. “I’ll book it as a surprise for my wife.” He laughed. “Provided it's not gay orientated.”

“It’s a family hotel,” growled Porthos, on the point of losing his cool.

Athos was also furious--what kind of people did Bonnaire think they were?-- but he managed to rein in his temper. “Make sure you go to the restaurant in the cove. The seafood there is excellent.”

“I will,” said Bonnaire, finishing his coffee and getting to his feet. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you both. I’ll email you a copy of my assessment and I’m sure you’ll soon have a court date for the hearing.”

“Thank you,” said Athos, shaking his hand politely.

“All the best, gentlemen,” said Bonnaire. “Goodbye.”

Athos slammed the front door and leant against it, expelling a breath that he’d been holding for the entire visit. “I’m not all sure how it went, but thank god it’s over.”

“I think it was all right,” said Porthos cautiously. “The guy was a dick, but in my experience social workers almost always are.”

“And so it’s back to the waiting game,” said Athos, staring into space.

Porthos shoved him up against the door, marking his neck with kisses. “How about we take our mind off things by messing up every surface of this nice tidy flat?” he suggested, his voice a low rumble of desire. “I’ll fuck some of that misery out of you and then you can do the same for me.”

Athos melted, his legs barely able to support him as Porthos worked magic with his mouth. “God,” he moaned as teeth came into play and a hand edged its way downwards behind the waistband of his trousers.


	26. Chapter 26

As the weather turned colder and Autumn journeyed steadily to its end, the two men grew more used to the enforced separation from Raoul, not liking it but putting up with it, safe in the knowledge that it was a short term thing. With the Paris Plages now packed away until next year, they took Raoul to the zoo and the swimming pool instead, meeting up with Constance on occasion to be sure that the babies didn’t forget each other. Athos also made a point of educating all four of his companions, old and young, showing them the treasures that could be found in the lesser known museums and art galleries of the city.

Visiting days had come and gone and still they’d heard nothing regarding their application for a review of the custody order. Athos was getting concerned that they’d been lost in the system.

“No emails again this morning,” he moaned. “I’m going to have phone up to make sure they’ve got the address right. Bonnaire promised he’d send us a copy of the assessment.”

“He works for the government,” said Porthos handing Athos a coffee. “Remember what Mum said; nothing happens quickly.”

“Postman’s here,” said Athos ignoring the mug and running for the door.

“Stop jumping out on the poor bugger,” called Porthos. “He ain’t young and he’s getting a complex. You’ll give him a heart attack if you keep pouncing on him.”

Ignoring him Athos pounced anyway, opening both doors and retrieving the stack of mail from the postman’s outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he said and then let loose a slightly embarrassed smile. “I’m expecting something important.”

“I guessed, mon ami.” The man smiled and sucked on his Gitane, his weathered face crinkling into lines. “I hope today brings some good news about your son.”

“I hope so too,” said Athos, nonplussed that the postman was kind enough to care about his troubles. Being an insular soul, he struggled with everyday niceties. “Thank you very much.”

Sorting the mail neatly into the pigeonholes, he trembled slightly on seeing the brown envelope with the stamp of the justice department. This was what he’d been waiting for, so why then was he frightened?

Back in the flat, Porthos was whistling cheerfully as he collected up the dirty laundry and shoved it into the machine in a very haphazard way. “I know we ain’t got our monkey home yet,” he said looking slightly shamefaced at being in such a good mood. “But the building work’s done and no more drilling makes Porthos a happy boy.”

“We’ve got a letter from the courts,” said Athos, staring down at the envelope in his hand.

“Don’t keep me in suspenders. What does it say?” demanded Porthos.

“I haven’t opened it yet,” said Athos.

“Give it here.” Impatient, Porthos took it from him and ripped open the seal, taking out the documents and scanning through them.

“Well?” asked Athos, impatient himself now that the matter was out of his hands.

“The court date’s set for the 6th of December,” said Porthos. “It says we can employ a solicitor to represent us, but that isn’t necessary. It also says we can call witnesses to speak on our behalf.”

“Who would we ask?” said Athos. “We have no need for evidence. We can tell the judge everything he needs to know.”

“That’s what I reckon too,” said Porthos with a nod. “We could ask Constance, but she’d probably only swear at the Michons.”

“It’ll be just before our anniversary,” murmured Athos, feeling slightly stupid at being so sentimental. In three weeks they’d be a family again, taking Raoul out everyday to see the Christmas lights and stopping off at L’Artiste for a coffee.

“The day when you told me you loved me.” Porthos was the one to pounce this time, taking Athos into his arms then holding on tight and rocking him from side to side. “You know that was the happiest moment of my life, yeah?”

“Pretty embarrassing too as I recall,” smirked Athos.

“Nah,” said Porthos. “I was over the bloody moon.” He kissed Athos on the forehead and grinned. “I never had anyone fall in love with me before we got to the sex.”

“The sex,” said Athos with an exaggerated sigh. “I liked that part.”

“I did too.” Porthos slid his hands under Athos’ sweatshirt. “Still do, as a matter of fact.”

Athos shivered. “You're freezing,” he complained.

“Better think of a way to warm me up then,” laughed Porthos as he explored lower, trailblazing a path to the most interesting parts.

Athos clasped his hands around the back of Porthos’ neck and pulled him in for kisses. “We can’t go back to bed already,” he laughed. “We’ve only just got up.”

“Then let’s do it right here.” Unfastening Athos’ fly with deft fingers Porthos pulled down jeans and pants, leaving him fully exposed.

“You sod,” said Athos, actions contradicting words as he canted his hips in approval when Porthos wrapped a cold hand around his decidedly hot cock.

“Want me to stop?” Porthos grinned. “Or d’you want to go and unmake the bed?”

“Bed,” groaned Athos as he clung on for the ride. He was enjoying being had like this by Porthos in front of the big bay window, but the blinds wouldn't hide everything and he was certain the passers by would not appreciate the peep show.

“Come on then,” said Porthos, manhandling him towards the bedroom. “I need to be naked with you right now.”

Hanging onto jeans and pants, Athos let himself be barged down the passageway, loving it when Porthos showed him exactly how much he wanted him. Stripping off at breakneck speed, he grabbed the lube from the drawer then knelt on all fours on the bed, looking back over his shoulder. “Hurry up and put that cock to use. I need a fuck now not tomorrow.”

“Pushy man,” laughed Porthos. “You know I hate being told what to do.”

He made a sudden grab for Athos, hauling him over onto his back and sitting astride him. Wetting his hand with slick he tugged himself off with a lazy stroke, keeping Athos pinned to the mattress, arms fastened securely to his side. “Stuck proper, aren’t you, darling? What’re you going to do now?”

“Wait until you come all over me and then get off on it as usual,” smirked Athos.

“How about we go one better than that?” said Porthos and raising up, he reached behind for Athos’ cock then lubed it up and sank down on him in one swift manoeuvre.

“Fuck,” cried Athos. They’d never done it this way before. Porthos was always worried that he’d be too heavy.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“Christ no,” gasped Athos. “Just bloody get on with it.”

Porthos laughed as he rose to the trot and pulled at his own cock. “Oh how you win me over with your romantic words.”

Afterwards, lying together messy and content, they kissed softly for a long time, spent and satisfied yet not quite ready to let go.

“Soon we won’t be able to sneak off back to bed in the middle of the day,” said Athos, his smile secretive and knowing.

“Don’t count your chickens just yet,” warned Porthos. “We have to keep calm and carry on as we are.”

Athos completed the sentence in his head: _until we get our son back._

Time crawled past but finally the day of the hearing arrived. Pressing the snooze button on the alarm clock again Athos sat in bed, drinking coffee and trying to calm his nerves. He’d still not heard a word from their social worker, or anyone from the courts for that matter despite the fact that he and Porthos had spent hours on the phone trying to track down Bonnaire and find out what was going on. They’d even turned up at the department to talk to him in person, but had been told that the he was away on holiday.

Trying to take his mind off things, Athos picked up his iPad and after a couple of failed attempts at a time wasting game he checked his inbox. At last the report had arrived from Bonnaire under the header: Assessment As Requested.

“It’s here,” he said, forwarding the email to Porthos and then opening the document.

They both read in silence, the words making no sense to Athos, the implications an utter disgrace.

“This has got to be a stitch up,” said Porthos. “It ain’t right.”

“Why on earth has he called our parenting skills into question?” said Athos, both furious and frightened. “How could he have made this kind of judgement after talking to us for barely an hour.”

“He’s a bigoted little twat, is how,” said Porthos. “And we call him out on it in court. Have you read his conclusion? He finds that for many reasons, including the financial and social ones listed above, it would be in the best interests of the child to remain in full custody of his mother.”

Athos smelt the putrid corpse of a dead rat. “We still have the opportunity to convince the judge,” he said. “We know what’s best for Raoul.”

“I’ve never spoken in court,” said Porthos. “Well, not since I was seven and my mum tried to get custody of me again. I told them no. I wish Raoul was old enough to stand up because I know what he’d want.”

Hugging his knees, Porthos buried his face in the bed clothes and Athos remained silent, giving him a chance to compose himself, his arm resting across Porthos’ back, fingers working at tense muscles. 

“Sorry.” The voice was still gruff but smaller than usual and muffled by the thick duvet.

“I never knew you had to go through that,” said Athos, imagining Porthos as a child, scared and vulnerable, painfully shy the way Annette had described him. “You chose to go back to a foster family?”

“I chose to go back to a children’s home,” said Porthos. “My mum weren’t up to much.” He looked up. “But we are and we’re going to tell them exactly that.”

It was hard to eat breakfast with stomachs roiling in fear, but Athos knew they needed food inside them to fuel their wits. After that, suited and booted, they set out for the courts. Taking a taxi rather than having the added hassle of parking they arrived an hour early and after being directed to the conference room in which the hearing would take place they waited outside, too nervous to say a word to each other. Receiving a nudge in the ribs from Porthos, Athos looked up to see that the Michons had arrived: Marie, elegant and regal, Duke as overbearing as always.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering with this farce,” said Marie. “But at least it will soon be over.”

“It will never be over until we win,” said Athos. It was an effort to keep the tension out of his voice, but he managed it well. “Raoul is our son and we’ll keep fighting no matter what the outcome. If it takes a thousand hearings then sobeit.”

“You’re a fool, de la Fère, and you always have been,’ said Duke, quieting down after receiving a look from his lawyer. They had a full legal team present, enough to defend a mass murderer, and it didn’t surprise Athos. Duke Michon was never one to do anything by halves.

“Let’s go sock it to them,” said Porthos as they were called through and took a minute to smooth down Athos’ suit jacket, then kiss him softly on the lips. “We know we’re right for Raoul.”

The room was large and brightly lit with windows in triple aspect offering views over Paris. The two parties sat at either side of the conference table and glared at each other across the row of water jugs as they awaited the arrival of the children's judge.

“Seems like we’re outnumbered,” said Porthos.

“Only an ex American footballer would arrive here with an offensive team of lawyers,” smirked Athos.

“It’s like having the fifth army turn up to a dominoes match,” laughed Porthos, his comment eliciting a few smiles from the opposing bench.

The pissing contest ended when the judge, who had been appointed to preside over the matter, scuttled into the room and sat down at the end of the table.

He was elderly, chubby and balding with a sour expression that didn’t bode well. “Bonjour,” he said addressing no one in particular as he took his time reading through the notes.

This was not good, thought Athos who had been hoping for someone younger and more open minded.

Finally there was eye contact as the judge addressed him specifically. “M de la Fère, as the father of the child you have appealed the custody order. Please explain your reasons for doing so.”

Athos collected his thoughts, taking his time before speaking and holding tight to Porthos’ hand to keep himself focused. “Your Honour,” he said. “My partner, M du Vallon and I have brought Raoul up since his mother left him with me when he was not quite a month old. We’ve loved him and looked after him and we’ve done it well. He’s attended baby clinics regularly and we’ve taken him to baby groups, museums, day trips.”

“M de la Fère,” said the judge, interrupting him at the start. “None of this is in dispute. What we must determine today is what is best for your son, and the recommendations from the court appointed social worker are clear. In six years you have shown no desire to find employment, despite having passed all the requirements of the bar. Your partner also has no fixed income and has been out of work for several months due to ill health. Your finances are unstable and your place of residence is currently unsuitable for habitation.”

“Building work’s finished now,” growled Porthos.

“Then I shall strike that off the list,” said the judge, eyeing Porthos over the top of his spectacles. “Regardless of that, the flat you live in has no outside space for a child to play.”

“We’ll move,” said Athos. “We’ll do anything you determine is necessary.”

Just for a moment, the judge looked vaguely sympathetic. This, however, was short-lived. “But these are technicalities. I must decide, using the evidence before me, whether it would be better for Raoul to live under the custodial care of his mother or his father and, taking everything into consideration, I rule that the order currently in place should stand, overnight stays to be arranged as necessary.”

Athos stood up. “I haven’t been allowed to speak,” he said.

“Have you anything to say that contradicts what is in the assessment?” asked the judge.

Athos turned his gaze onto Marie who was sitting directly opposite him, wondering how she could disrupt their lives so often and with such casual disregard. “I suppose not,” he said. “But surely I deserve the opportunity to have my say?”

“Go ahead,” said the judge.

“When Marie left Raoul with me and walked away without a second glance I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do for the best.”

“Objection,” said one of the lawyers. “Our client was suffering from post natal depression at the time and we have the medical reports to prove it.”

“Overruled. You may continue, M de la Fère,” said the judge.

“I’d never dealt with a baby and I had no idea what to do,” said Athos. “I fed Raoul. I changed him. I rocked him to sleep and all the time I was panicking, hoping that Marie would come to her senses and return to collect her child.” He continued to stare across the divide of the table. “She didn’t. She didn’t even call to see how he was doing, and so with Porthos’ help, I learned and I coped. We enjoyed being Raoul’s parents. We did everything with him and for him. He was our world and we were great at being his fathers. We could have called countless witnesses to stand up today and tell you how good we are at bringing him up, but we didn’t do so because we never thought it necessary. We saw no reason why you wouldn’t believe the evidence in front of you. We never guessed for a minute that the assessment would be fiction rather than fact.”

“Have you finished?” asked the judge when Athos paused for thought.

“No,” he said. “Because I want it to be known on record how unfair this decision is. When Marie contacted us for the first time, after an entire year had gone by, we had every right to tell her to leave our family alone, but we didn’t do that because we wanted Raoul to get to know his mother. When she asked for overnight visits, we hated the idea of being away from him, but we complied for his sake. All we ask is that you take Raoul's needs into consideration the way we have throughout his life.” He sat down and poured a glass of water from the jug in front of him.

“And this is precisely what I’ve done in making this ruling,” said the judge. “You will have access to Raoul on a fortnightly basis. Shared parenting will not give Raoul the steady family upbringing which is in his best interests. You must understand that.”

“Why must we?” interjected Porthos. “When it’s totally wrong.”

“In your opinion,” said the judge. “But that’s not shared by the courts or the appointed social worker.”

“I don’t believe any of this bollocks,” said Porthos. “The truth is that you don’t think Athos and I have the right to bring up our son because we’re gay.” He stared balefully around the room. “Only none of you have the balls to admit it.”


	27. Chapter 27

“Athos.” Porthos hammered on the bathroom door. “Come on, love. I know you’re not still in the shower. Please come out of there.”

Athos huddled against the lukewarm pipework of the cast iron radiator, staring into space. He’d failed Raoul. He’d not taken this appeal seriously enough. If only he’d spent the last of his money on a good lawyer then the baby might be home, playing in the living room right now. His chest was tight and he tried to cry to release some of the tension, but all that came out was a single sob of despair.

“Athos. If you don’t unlock the door I’m breaking it down.”

Athos remembered Porthos’ damaged arm and got shakily to his feet. “I’m okay,” he said, sliding the bolt across and turning the handle. “Have we got anything in to drink?”

“There’s a drop of brandy,” said Porthos, holding on to him and rubbing some warmth back into his body. “What were you thinking of, you daft beggar? You’re freezing. Let’s get you dressed and I’ll go to the shop for some wine.”

“I was thinking about last Christmas,” said Athos. “We were so happy. It doesn’t even seem real now.”

“It was real. It was bloody amazing,” said Porthos, pushing Athos gently backwards until he was seated on the edge of the bed. “And it’s going to be just as amazing again. We’ll just be better prepared next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” Athos removed the damp towel that had been wrapped around his waist for what seemed like hours and pulled on a pair of boxers. “We can’t fight against the system when at its heart it’s corrupt.”

“What do you mean?” asked Porthos.

“The Michons didn’t just pay lawyers,” said Athos, skinning a t-shirt over his head. “They used bribes to ensure things went their way.”

“They paid off the judge?” said Porthos incredulously.

“Too obvious,” said Athos. “I imagine they spent their money engineering a suitable choice of judge. They also must have given Bonnaire a healthy wad of cash for writing the assessment and timing it the way he did to ensure we had no chance to prepare.” He stood up to finish getting dressed, fixing his eyes on Porthos. “How are we supposed to win against those kind of odds?”

“Dunno,” growled Porthos, “but I’m going to rip Bonnaire’s head clean off his shoulders.”

“And that’ll be so useful,” said Athos with a withering look.

“Don’t get angry with me, get angry with them,” retorted Porthos.

“Believe me, I am,” said Athos. “And I’m going to get pissed enough to prove it. Coming?”

That evening Athos drank as if he were an old lush, sitting at a table in a dark corner of a bar buying wine by the bottle and topping up his glass with the regular movements of a clockwork automaton. Porthos was talking to him, his voice the distant rumble of the ocean blotting out the Christmas music in the background.

“I reckon you’ve had enough to dull the pain by now.” 

Guided upwards, Athos let himself be led through the streets of Paris, looking up at the twinkling lights that were strung along the boulevards and remembered too much. “One more bottle of wine for home,” he slurred. “I need it to stop thinking.”

The shop was insalubrious, the floor damp with a trampoline quality to it that was disconcerting. Or maybe that was because Athos was so out of it that his senses were failing him. He picked a bottle of red and handed it to Porthos who paid, keeping an arm locked tight around him to hold him upright.

“When’s our anniversary?” he asked as soon as they got home.

“Two days time,” said Porthos, helping him clean his teeth then putting him to bed. 

“I won’t be drunk then,” promised Athos. “We’ll go out for a meal. Least we don’t have to think about getting a babysitter.”

The excess wine was a downer, turning him into more of an emotional wreck than he’d ever been in his life and he cried into his pillow with Porthos’ arms fastened tightly around him.

“I’ll fix this.” Porthos’ breath tickled Athos’ ear. “I swear.”

There was no romantic table for two on their anniversary. Athos--the liar that he was--was drunk again and spent the day in a heap on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said when Porthos brought him in a card, along with some water and a couple of paracetamol.

“Get them painkillers down you and go to sleep,” said Porthos. “We’re going Christmas shopping tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” muttered Athos, remembering last year when he and Raoul had been out every day buying presents.

“If you want that little boy to forget we exist then you’re going the right way about it,” said Porthos, full of exasperation. “I know this is your default setting, but please, for crying out loud, just stop.”

It had been Porthos’ strict words that had pulled him from the abyss a year ago, but this was different and although Athos tried, it was easier to rely on the amnesiac qualities of alcohol than face the horrors of life head on.

“You keep going like this then we won’t even be able to see him at the weekend,” warned Porthos after several more lost days. “And if you don’t want to, I bloody well do.”

“I do,” muttered Athos. “I just don’t know how to face him after failing him so badly.”

“You didn’t fail him, Athos, and anyway he hasn’t got a clue what’s happened,” said Porthos carefully. “He just wants us to love him.”

It was then that Athos found the courage to voice his greatest fear, the reason for his recent collapse. “Will you still love me?” he asked, keeping his words simple, his voice steady.

“What do you mean?” said Porthos, staring at him.

“If we don’t get him back will you still love me?”

Porthos lurched away from him as if he’d been physically punched. “When have I ever made you feel as if-” He paused. “No. I can’t do this right now.”

“Please don’t go.” Athos watched in shock as Porthos put on his coat. “I didn’t mean it to sound the way it did.”

“Yeah, you did.” Porthos faced up to him, torn apart by misery. “You still think I’m only with you because of your kid. Well, for the record I’m not, Athos. I loved you long before Raoul arrived, but you’re never going to believe that, so what’s the fucking point?”

Leaving Athos no time to argue, Porthos picked up his keys from the hall table and walked out of the flat. Immediately afterwards came the echoing slam of a second door and hoping against hope that Porthos had chosen his own place to lick his wounds, Athos hammered his fist repeatedly on that other front door on the ground floor of the building, but there was no answer.

Cold waves of panic swallowed him up like the sea and he raced for the bathroom, vomiting up the contents of his stomach over and over again until his insides burned and his muscles ached. Disorientated, he had no idea what time it was when a light came on in the bathroom and blinking repeatedly he covered his eyes. He must have fallen asleep on the tiled floor.

“Jesus Christ, Athos,” said Porthos. “If you carry on drinking like this you’re going to kill yourself. You left the front door of the flat open this time.”

“Didn’t drink anything today,” said Athos, his throat stinging from the acid. It didn’t matter how much it hurt, he had to try and explain things to Porthos. “I went to see where you were, but then I felt sick and I came back here,” he rasped, his voice absent. “I love you. I know you love me, but sometimes I don’t understand why.”

“Can’t it be enough that I do?”

They were both lying on the cold floor, trapped together between bath and wash basin pedestal, and for the first time in ages, the first time since they’d lost Raoul, Athos looked at Porthos with sober eyes and saw how much pain he was causing. He also saw something else vitally important. If Porthos could love him so much that it shone through even when he was in this state then he owed him that belief.

“It is,” he said as he wrapped both arms around his rock. “I promise.”

The rest of the day was spent reconnecting, not in a sexual way, but by talking from the heart. Home truths hurt, however they needed to be said and though Athos recoiled from each one, Porthos was there afterwards to hold him and comfort him and tell him over and over again that he would always be there. That he was nothing like Anne. That he would always love him.

When they picked Raoul up next morning Athos was an empty vessel, emotionally vulnerable which didn’t make this any easier to endure. Unable to bring himself to glance at Marie, he hugged the baby tightly and then strapped him into the car seat, ignoring every word that came out of the woman’s lying mouth.

“Athos, I’m talking to you,” said Marie. 

Porthos glared at her. “If you can’t see how much this is destroying him then you’re more of a heartless bitch than I imagined and that’s saying something.”

“Keep out of it,” said Marie. “You have no right to interfere.”

“I have every right,” said Porthos. “Because I know what it feels like to have a parent like you. My own mother chucked me away when it suited her and there’s not a lot of difference between you two as far as I can see. Except that you have a bank account big enough to pay for your mistakes.”

“Please don’t fight in front of Raoul,” said Athos, reaching for Porthos’ hand. He could see the baby looking in confusion from one angry face to the other. “He’ll get upset.”

“Not fighting,” said Porthos. “Just telling Mme Michon here what things are like when you’re a kid.”

Athos understood and appreciated Porthos’ need to defend their little boy, but since being stripped back to basics yesterday he was viewing life through clearer lenses.

“May we see Raoul over Christmas?” he asked, addressing Marie for the first time since they’d arrived. The big day was a week away, right in between scheduled visits.

“You can have him Christmas Eve for an overnight stay,” said Marie, the words tripping off her tongue. “Bring him back first thing as we’re leaving for Rome in the jet.”

The woman had no understanding of family life. Athos remembered a lovely, lazy morning in bed, ripping the wrapping paper off piles of presents, and he smiled at Raoul who grinned back at him. 

“Sounds like that was pre-planned,” said Porthos, his voice lowering in pitch. “Got stuff arranged, have we?”

Anyone else would have looked shamefaced, but not Marie. “We have a party that evening and the nanny expects time off for Christmas.”

“Can’t get the staff these days,” muttered Porthos and once upon a time Athos would have huffed with laughter at this, but that was before, when he was a parent to Raoul rather than an occasional visitor in his life.

“At least we get to see him over the holidays,” continued Porthos as he drove away from the house. He grinned at the baby through the rear view mirror. “Don’t we, little man? We’re going to have tons of fun.”

Athos stared blankly out of the passenger window, half listening to Porthos’ monologue.

“I said, what are going to do today?”

“I don’t mind,” Athos replied. “Whatever you want.” What could one do in a few hours?

They opted for familiar territory, taking him to see the Christmas displays in town. This year the toy shop had skating elves rather than dancing penguins and Raoul liked it, but somehow the magic was lost. 

“You’re shaking,” said Porthos as he rested an arm across Athos’ shoulders.

“I’m cold,” said Athos. “I still feel a bit sick to be honest.”

Porthos rested a hand on his forehead. “You haven't got a fever. Maybe it’s your body getting rid of all that excess alcohol.”

“Don’t,” said Athos miserable again, even with the baby gabbling away below them. He knew his failings and he didn’t need to be reminded of them. “I’m trying,” he said wearily.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Porthos. “I wasn’t judging you, babe, I was just trying to think why you could be feeling ill, is all.” He took off his scarf and wound it around Athos’ neck. “There,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. “That’ll warm you up. Now let’s take the chatterbox to the park and have some fun on the swings.”

Thankfully this attack of nausea was short-lived and once Athos remembered how to relax he began to enjoy himself, even if it was over too soon. When it was time to say goodbye and he had to pry Raoul’s chubby little fingers off his coat lapels he understood why fathers stopped visiting their children and became absent in their lives. He would never do such a thing to Raoul, but the emotional pain from this was extraordinary. To bring a child up and then have him ripped away for no reason was viciously cruel.

“We let you see him,” he said to Marie as he handed him back. “Against our better judgement, we allowed you back into his life and this is how you repay us.”

“He needed his mother,” said Marie.

“No, he didn’t,” said Athos, his words blunt but spoken without rancour. “He was the happiest little boy in the world when he lived with us. He wanted for nothing.” He kissed the baby once more on the forehead. “Papa and I will see you next week, Raoul.”

“Bye, monkey,” said Porthos, kissing the baby and ruffling his hair. “Betcha Santa’s going to bring loads of presents.”

With Raoul crying his heart out and both Athos and Porthos utterly drained, they left the suburbs and headed back to their own shabbier district of Paris.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” said Athos once they arrived home and, sapped of every ounce of energy, he went straight to bed and stayed there for the next few days. Not drunk, simply unhappy.

Christmas arrived without fanfare or celebration. The weather was cold and crisp and the television was filled with the usual jolly movies, but other than that it seemed, to Athos, like every other time of the year. Knowing that they were picking Raoul up and then spending Christmas Eve with Porthos’ family, he’d made some effort to shop for gifts, but it was done without thought, picking up generic presents for the right age group and gender and then having them wrapped in store. He even struggled buying for Porthos and Raoul, his brain muzzy, his head full of cotton wool.

Watching Porthos play with Raoul on the living room floor of that rambling, ramshackle house made Athos feel sad rather than happy, and though he enjoyed tucking the baby into his travel cot and reading him story after story, nothing was quite the same as it was before. Their life had been shattered and all that was left of it were tiny fragments of memory.

“Now that Raoul’s down for his nap it’s time for a council of war,” said Annette, hustling Athos into the kitchen and pouring him a mug of sweet milky coffee, flavoured with cinnamon. 

He sat at the table next to Porthos, keeping his head down, not daring to look at the kindly couple who had taken in dozens of children over the years. He hadn’t even been able to look after his own little boy.

“What’s to be done?” said Guillaume. “You two can’t carry on like this.”

“Appeal the decision again,” said Annette. “We’ll speak on your behalf.”

“It’s worth a go, ain’t it?” said Porthos.

There was so much love and hope in those eyes that contrarily it made Athos feel all the more insignificant. “There’s no point,” he replied. “The Michons have the advantage of money and power, plus the best lawyers in France on their side. The last time I went up against Richelieu’s lot I lost everything, including my family home which had no connection whatsoever to my ex wife. If we fight we’ll only end up losing more ground. You read the report, Porthos. They implied that we were unfit to parent Raoul because we’d shared a room with him when we were on holiday, for God’s sake. As if we were perverts.” He’d never voiced this before, never allowed it headspace as if doing so would give it credence.

“That’s bigotry and you have grounds for appeal right there,” said Annette.

“Not against vague implications,” said Athos with a sigh. “I know you mean well, but I can’t face another ordeal.”

“The first hearing wasn’t exactly a trial by fire,” said Porthos. “We were unprepared for what they threw at us. The next one will be different.”

“No,” said Athos, all but out of resources.

“So, that’s it. You’re going to give up on Raoul?” said Porthos.

Athos stood up and walked over to the window, staring out across the frosty hills in the distance, limned by moonlight. “I’ll never give up on him,” he said, hanging on to the door frame to stop himself from keeling over. “He’s our son. I’m simply terrified of losing what little access we have to him right now.”

Porthos was by his side in an instant, hauling him into his arms, steadying him as always and plastering him with kisses. “We won’t, darling,” he said. “All we’ve got to do is think up an outstanding and unbeatable plan of action and then we’ll have our son home where he belongs in two shakes of a duck’s tail.”

“Please, no more promises,” begged Athos.

“You’re exhausted, Athos,” said Annette, coming over to stand next to them. “Raoul’s asleep. It’s Christmas tomorrow so do a little unwinding and put your worries aside for a night.”

“My unwinding has a tendency to involve too many bottles of wine,” admitted Athos with a wry tug of the lips.

“I’m sure my son can do just as good a job as a bottle of burgundy.” She smiled at the look of embarrassment on Porthos’ face. “The children are all asleep. Guillaume and I are off to bed too, so have yourselves a merry little Christmas.”

“But don’t keep the rest of us awake with all the noise,” chuckled Guillaume.

Porthos shook his head in despair. “Honestly, you’re the worst best parents in the world.”

“For that, you boys get to tidy the kitchen,” said Annette as she and Guillaume made a break for the stairs.

“We’re going to be just like them,” said Porthos as he and Athos stacked the dishwasher. “The best parents ever. We’ll have a houseful of Raoul’s friends around all the time and we’ll tease him when he brings home his first girlfriend or boyfriend. He’ll pull faces at us and go red, but secretly he’ll love it. He’ll love us.”

“Just like we love your parents,” said Athos, boosted by this vision.

“Just like we love mine,” agreed Porthos. “Now come to bed and let me show you how much I love you.”

In the end, Athos was too drained to do anything but lie in Porthos’ arms, steadied by that resonant heartbeat which was accompanied by the soft sounds of Raoul’s breathing. His exhaustion was extreme, over-tiredness preventing him from sleeping and he lay awake for hours, praying for a Christmas miracle to make everything right.


	28. Chapter 28

The _outstanding and unbeatable plan of action_ that Porthos finally came up with was a shock more than a surprise, unexpected and unwelcome in every way.

“No!” said Athos, his voice raised in anger. “Absolutely not. I don’t understand why you’ve brought her into our home, Porthos. She’s one of Marie’s oldest friends and she’s not to be trusted.” He rounded on his ex wife. “As for your motives, Anne, I can’t even begin to fathom them out.”

“Altruistic for the most part,” said Anne, sitting in one of the rigid backed chairs and crossing her legs elegantly. “Although like you, I was rather baffled when Porthos showed up at my office.”

“Then go away,” said Athos frowning at her.

“Stop being stubborn and listen to what I have to say,” said Anne as she leaned in towards him. “If you can let bygones be bygones then I’m willing and able to help you. Marie might be an old friend of mine, but she’s not a close one and when I said my reasons were mostly altruistic, well, that may have been a slight exaggeration.” She smiled in that feline way of hers. “Standing as a witness to help my ex husband and his gay partner gain custody of their little boy won't hinder my chances of becoming party leader of the Republicans. I’m hoping to gain votes from the young modernisers in the party and what better way to go about it than this.”

Athos raised an eyebrow. “Well at least the scheming sounds familiar.”

“Does it really matter why she wants to help us, love?” said Porthos. “You said yourself we need someone powerful on our side.”

“I also come with a lot of useful information,” said Anne, smiling widely enough now to reveal the gap in her teeth.

“None of it gained illegally I hope?” asked Athos. 

“All of it a matter of public record if you know where to look,” said Anne, her expression softening. “The part of me that’s not doing this for selfish reasons enjoyed seeing you as a family man, Athos. You and Porthos love that baby and you deserve to get him back.”

Athos studied her carefully. Over the years he’d learned most of her tells and was convinced that she was being truthful, for now at least. “Thank you for that,” he said with a slight nod. “But there’s still no guarantee we’ll win.”

“You never did like the riskier cases,” she replied. “It always surprises me that you were intent on taking so many chances with your own life.” She glanced knowingly at Porthos. “Up until recently that is.”

Athos huffed with irritation, still loathing the idea that she’d been keeping tabs on him for the past few years.

“Of course, you’re right that there are no guarantees,” she continued, “but I’m certain that if we take on the Michons then we’ll have more than a fighting chance of winning.”

“Are we going to do this or not?” said Porthos, pacing the room several times before throwing himself down on the couch next to Athos.

Athos weighed matters up in his head, considering the consequences if a second appeal failed. “They could rake up some issues from my past,” he said carefully.

“Then we rake right back at them,” said Anne. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you to do what’s right for you.”

Anne laughed. “At last my husband understands me.”

“You have no shame at all,” said Athos, but he couldn’t help smiling. It was her sheer bravado he had found so appealing when they’d first met at law school. Now he would finally be able to make use of it.

“Well?” said Porthos as impatient as always.

“We’ll have one last attempt at getting Raoul back and then resign ourselves to alternate weekend parenting,” said Athos. “But don’t you dare try getting my hopes up.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Porthos his voice pitched low and rough. “I am thinking of getting something else up though.”

Leaning in close he bit softly at Athos’ neck, eliciting a reflex murmur of approval.

“I believe that’s my cue for an exit,” said Anne, getting to her feet. “I’ll mull things over and then get back to you on how I think we should proceed.”

Athos edged unwillingly away from Porthos. It was the first time he’d experienced the slightest hint of arousal in weeks and it may have come as a result of an alpha male display of possessive behaviour, but that didn’t stop it from feeling extraordinarily good. However, now was not the time.

“Do you really think we stand a chance of winning?” he asked as he showed Anne out.

“More than a chance,” she promised. “Leave it with me.”

“Thanks, Milady.” Porthos opened the front door for her. “For the record, I don’t give a shit whether you're doing this for mercenary reasons or not. Means to an end is what I say.”

“A man after my own heart.” Anne laughed. “Au revoir. I’ll call you as soon as I have some news.”

Alone at last, Porthos slammed Athos up against the wall, nipping at his lips and sucking a chain of bruises onto his neck, all the while busy undoing buttons and stroking bare skin.

“Someone’s definitely up for it,” smirked Athos, tracing the ridge of Porthos’ hard-on with the tip of a finger.

“She called you her husband and that’s not right because you're mine,” said Porthos, his hand working its way into Athos' jeans.

“It’s not right,” breathed Athos. “It was never right.” He pushed himself into Porthos’ fist. “ _This_ is right.”

The rejuvenation of their sex life was wonderful, and for a while it succeeded in taking Athos’ mind off the appeal. It didn’t, however, allay his fears altogether. He’d been guilty of many things in the past.

“We must hire a lawyer,” he said at the first official meeting of the Free Raoul committee. 

Anne shook her head. “I think it sends out all the wrong signals.”

“I disagree,” said Athos. “We didn’t use one last time and look how that ended up.”

“Yeah, but their lawyers said one thing last time and the judge overruled it,” said Porthos, frowning at the two of them as they continued to argue. “We’re not stupid. This time we’ll be prepared for anything they can possibly throw at us.”

Athos stared at the sea of instructions spread out in front of him. The legal jargon was something he was used to dealing with and he didn’t want them to seem as over prepared as the Michons had been last time. Not that it had been a problem for them. “I suppose you’re both right,” he conceded.

Outlining the case for their appeal, they filled in a ream of forms then drafted a covering letter and printed the whole lot out. 

“Sign it,” said Anne. “I’ll drop it off on the way home and then get busy doing a little digging.”

“Digging for what?” asked Porthos.

“Things,” she replied secretively with a glint of excitement in her green eyes. “I can’t tell you yet, but I promise you it’ll be worth it.”

“I’m not at all sure about this,” said Athos once she’d gone.

“Come here, you,” said Porthos, his eyes glinting with a different kind of excitement. “Let me help take your mind off those worries again.”

They kissed, slowly and languidly, sprawling together on the sofa, all wrapped up in each other as their hands enjoyed a wander.

“Shall we take Raoul to the zoo tomorrow?” said Athos suddenly, his head resting against Porthos’ shoulder, fingers curled around his cock. “We haven’t been there for ages.”

Porthos laughed. “Only you could think about bloody penguins when we’re jacking each other off.”

“Sorry,” said Athos, red faced and smirking.

“Don’t be.” Porthos crooked his index finger then tucked it beneath Athos’ chin, tipping his head upwards in order to kiss him full on the mouth. “You’re a sweetheart and I love you.” 

The following day brought with it their initial face off with the Michons now that war had commenced for the second time in months. The reception from Duke and Marie was frosty as battle lines were redrawn, but Raoul was as excited as ever to see his dads. 

“This won’t end well for you, Athos,” said Marie, her eyes a knife in his back as he strapped the baby into his seat.

At present Marie only knew that they were appealing the custody order and Athos wondered how she would feel when she discovered that Anne would be speaking out against her. He imagined the next visit would be a damn sight chillier than today and so he said nothing in response to her threats.

The weather today was lovely and the sun shone down on them for the entire time they were out, bestowing them with its warmth and promise of Spring. Once Raoul realised that they were visiting his favourite place in the world, he forcibly resisted going into the pushchair, arching his body against the harness. Too happy to be strict parents, Athos and Porthos took turns in holding his hand and walking him around the loop the loop paths of the zoo.

“He’s growing up so quickly,” whispered Porthos once the little boy had finally flaked out in his arms, fast asleep against his shoulder. 

Together they sat on one of the benches, sharing him out between them, a blanket tucked around him to keep him snug.

“This is why we have to get him back,” said Athos. “Why should we miss out when we’re the ones who’ve been there for him from the start?”

The happy day out with Raoul re-instilled some positivity into Athos which manifested itself that night as he and Porthos tumbled relentlessly together beneath the sheets. Over the course of the month he was almost able to convince himself that a return to their old life was just around the corner and that soon everything would be back to normal. At least he might have been able to do so had it not been for Anne and her Machiavellian ways. Naive to the point of stupidity, he’d never considered the possibility that she would go to the press with their story.

“How could you be so utterly selfish?” he demanded, as his ex wife ran the gauntlet of reporters who were camped outside their door, chatting amiably to them and passing on tidbits of information to keep the sharks baited.

“Public opinion is vital,” she said as she perched on the windowsill looking down at her constructed tableau with pleasure.

“For you perhaps,” said Athos with a frown.

“We can’t even take the baby out now without getting hounded,” said Porthos gloomily. “I don’t see why they’re so interested in us.”

“You’re challenging France to stand up for the principles of the Republic,” said Anne, her mouth curving into a smile.

“All we want to do is get Raoul back so we can carry on with our lives,” said Athos. “Nothing more.”

“And so you shall as long as you play it my way,” said Anne. “Now let’s go through the scenarios once again. You can call as many witnesses as you like and this time make sure that you do.”

“You being the main one,” said Porthos with a roll of the eyes.

“Of course,” replied Anne. “I’ll have the most to say.”

“It would also help greatly if we knew what that was going to be about,” said Athos, his jaw tense with frustration. The woman was more infuriating than ever with her knowing smiles and eyes full of secrets. 

“I’m still mining for information,” she said, teasing him as had always been her way.

“I hate everything about this,” snapped Athos, losing his patience. “The Michons are flying to New York this weekend. We finally have Raoul for two whole days and we’ll be stuck inside the flat the entire time. We can’t even escape to Porthos’ parents because then they’ll end up getting set upon too.”

The tension in his jaw expanded throughout his body until every nerve was thrumming and he was filled with a need to lash out. As always, Porthos was there to calm him, holding him in safe arms and easing him back down with hugs and whispered words.

“I realise this is hard on you,” said Anne.

“Harder still with you turning it into a drama that’s all about Milady de Winter,” interrupted Porthos.

“Let me finish,” said Anne, staring him down, the height difference between them having no bearing on her Medusa like ability to petrify with a single glance. “I have one ace that I was going to save for the hearing, but I think you could both do with it now.”

Athos shook his head in despair. Did everything have to be a performance with her?

“Take Raoul to Piñon this weekend,” she said. “After all it is your home.”

“Was my home,” said Athos, turning in Porthos’ arms until he was facing his tormenter.

“ _Is_ ,” said Anne blithely as she extracted a bunch of keys from her handbag and passed them to Athos. “I have no use for the place. It’s dull and dark and I can’t stand all those de la Fère faces judging me from the walls every time I go inside. I’m already in the process of transferring ownership back to you so you may as well make use of it now.“

Athos didn’t know what to say, but Porthos, as ever, found the right balance, his words jocular yet warm.

“You posh lot don’t half like to show off with your giving away of property.”

“Posh?” Anne laughed, filled with genuine amusement. “Once the hearing is over, remind me to tell you about my past.”


	29. Chapter 29

Athos was inexplicably nervous as he drove them through the countryside, taking the smallest of roads, that he still knew like the back of his hand, to keep the baying press hounds off their tail. Anne had assured him that the estate had been well cared for in his absence and he had no reason to doubt her, therefore his fears were wholly founded on a return to his past.

There was a small and rather squeaky beep of a horn from behind him and Athos glanced over his shoulder to see Raoul beaming with pleasure and twisting the steering wheel in his hands.

“Are we nearly there?” Porthos asked both of them with a grin.

“Ess,” said Raoul as he concentrated on his driving.

Athos smiled at Porthos. “He’s right actually. We are.”

“I know this place,” said Porthos as they stopped outside some wrought metal gates. “I used to climb over the bloody walls and nick apples from the orchards. That’s insane.”

“I did tell you that I used to live nearby,” smirked Athos as he got out and opened the gates then drove far enough inside that he could shut them again to keep the rest of the world out.

“You did too,” agreed Porthos. “Though I wasn’t imagining anything like this,” he added as they pulled up to the front of the house. “I can’t believe Milady handed this back to you. D’you reckon she’s feeling guilty?”

Athos shook his head. Remorse wasn’t a part of his ex wife’s repertoire. “I’ve heard she’s acquired a lot of property over the years,” said Athos, undoing the harness of the car seat then hoisting Raoul up and into his arms. “And she always did prefer city life.”

“Even so,” said Porthos, following behind the two generations of de la Fères as they entered their ancestral home. He looked around in amazement at the gallery of portraits that were glaring down at them from the walls. “Bloody hell, I can see what she meant about having a judgmental audience.”

A lot of the family antiques had gone and the room was beautifully furnished but sparse, containing the bare minimum needed for entertaining when Anne wanted to impress. As long as they kept Raoul away from the stone maw of a fireplace it should be possible to keep him safe here, provided they used the eyes in the back of their heads at all times.

“They’ve all got titles,” said Porthos, still gazing at the hall of faces, his expression turning comically horror stricken. “I haven’t gone and fallen for some lord or something, have I?”

Keeping a firm grip on Raoul, who was kicking his legs and itching to be off causing mischief, Athos led Porthos into the hall. 

“My grandfather and my father,” he said pointing up at two of the most recent portraits. “General and Colonel of their regiment respectively. No titles to be seen and I’m certain both of the arrogant bastards would have used them if they were still in existence.”

“Good,” said Porthos vehemently. “I’d feel weird knobbing a comte.”

“I’d have to call you comtesse,” laughed Athos.

“And who’d he be?” Porthos ruffled the baby’s hair, who looked up from his very important task of chewing the beak off Mr Penguin.

“Vicomte de la Fère, I suppose,” said Athos. “Until I died when he’d inherit the full title.”

“You’re not going to die,” growled Porthos. “We’re going to live forever.”

“We’re going to live out our days here, growing old and being happy, surrounded by family,” said Athos, filled with a burgeoning sense of joy that his home had been returned to him. 

“Until I get famous and super rich and then we’ll be living in a mansion in the Hollywood Hills.”

“We can be spoilt with two homes.” Arms tired, Athos placed Raoul carefully on the floor, watching him like a hawk as he explored the nooks and crannies of the hall.

“Maybe three or four,” amended Porthos, his focus growing distant as he was lost to his daydreams. “I’ve always fancied having a flat in London and a villa by the beach in St Lucia.”

“Nothing too extravagant then.” Athos laughed, the sound echoing eerily throughout the building. “Apparently, our son wants to see the bedrooms,” he said, following the baby a step at a time as he crawled up the carpeted stairs. “Come and have a look at the rest of the house and then we’ll unpack.”

Once Raoul had defeated the mighty staircase, Athos swung the baby up into his arms and took his family on a grand tour of the house.

“Duke and Marie’ll be green with envy.” Porthos stood at one of the huge bay windows in the master bedroom, surveying the grounds. “I think we can safely say we have enough garden for the monkey to play in now.”

After they’d explored everything, bar the attic, wine cellar and outbuildings, Athos lugged Raoul’s travel cot into the bedroom next to theirs and then made up the ornate four-poster with the clean sheets they’d brought with them from home. In the meantime, Porthos took over baby minding duties and put the shopping away.

“I reckon we should have a picnic tea,” he said when Athos joined them in the kitchen. “It might be easier to watch this little bugger when he’s outside. He’s been trying to climb into the fireplace for the last ten minutes.”

“Chimney sweep are we, mon petit?” said Athos, swooping down and collecting Raoul from where he was sitting on the flagstone floor, playing with his cars.

“Na,” objected the baby and then bashed Athos on the side of his head with a miniature Mercedes. “Dada.”

“A picnic's a good idea,” said Athos. “Some fresh air might tire him out.”

Loaded with bags of all kinds, Porthos carrying Raoul on his shoulders, they made their way to the top of the hill that overlooked the house. They then laid out a blanket beneath the branches of the single tree that guarded the summit.

“It’s beautiful here,” said Porthos as he sat cross legged with Raoul in his lap who was busy deconstructing sandwiches and eating the slices of ham out of the bread. “Watch it, short stop. I’m getting all buttery.”

Athos side-eyed his boyfriend, imagining a more interesting use for that butter and then concentrated instead on cleaner thoughts. “This was said to be a hanging tree in the old days. Can you imagine a more picturesque spot to die?”

“You’re being really morbid today,” said Porthos. “I don’t like it.” He shivered visibly and Athos slid in closer.

“Samch,” said Raoul, offering him the remains.

“Thank you.” Athos accepted politely and swapped the sticky mess for a slice of banana. “I’m sorry,” he said to Porthos, kissing him on the cheek as an apology. “I don’t mean to be and I feel happier than I have in a long time. It’s just the history of this place, I suppose. A thousand years of family and they’re all still here in some form or another.”

“We’re the only family that matters around here,” said Porthos, pouring wine into plastic beakers. “You, me and a cheeky little monster who's just ruined yet another pair of my chinos.”

That night, with Raoul asleep nearby and their room dancing with candlelight, they went to bed together, fulfilled before they’d even begun to get romantic. That wasn’t quite the case, though, because it had been a day loaded with quiet romance from start to finish.

“This bed’s bloody microscopic,” laughed Porthos as he climbed in.

“It’s supposed to be four hundred years old,” said Athos. “My ancestors must have been skinny and short.”

“No different to the present day de la Fères then,” chuckled Porthos. 

“I’m practically six foot tall,” retorted Athos. “Unless you’re casting aspersions on my cock.”

“I love your cock,” said Porthos, kissing a path down Athos’ body and then taking him into his mouth, still mostly soft but tingling with excitement. “Your cock is perfect,” he said in between sucks.

Athos wriggled away and turned a one eighty in the bed until he was draped over Porthos, his tongue teasing up and down the length of Porthos’ shaft. 

“Oh yeah,” groaned Porthos as Athos swallowed him to the root, delving in deep with a slick finger. 

Porthos matched him move for move as they pushed each other, close, closer to orgasm until they were both on that inexorable path to climax. 

The squeal of an angry baby was a distraction, but not enough to alter their course and after they’d come, Porthos swiftly followed by Athos, they both cleaned up in a hurry, sharing in the not so quiet pleasure of family life again, however awkward it might be at times.

“I’ll bring the cot in here,” said Porthos when they both went to fetch Raoul. “He’s probably a bit freaked out by the high ceilings and all the weird carvings everywhere. I know I am.”

“Some people co-sleep with their children for years,” said Athos as they squeezed into bed with Raoul tucked in between them, drinking his bottle of water. 

“I bet a het couple wouldn’t get labeled as perverts for doing so,” said Porthos in a gruff voice.

“I presume not.” Athos kissed Porthos’ hand. “But then again they probably don’t have as much sex as we do.”

“We love each other and we like to prove it,” said Porthos. “But right now I’m totally content with holding hands. It’s not a bad idea wearing pyjamas neither,” he added. “This house is bloody freezing.”

“You should put some socks on,” said Athos as he lifted a sleeping Raoul back into his cot. “Your feet are going to stick out the end.”

“Not if I spoon up next to you.” Porthos made a sudden grab and hauled him back into the bed. “Come here, darling. I need that gorgeous body of yours to be my hot water bottle."

The chateau, as it was rather grandly described as on the local maps, had its own distinctive set of sounds. The creak of the rafters as the sun hit the tiles, the clanking of the old pipes that threaded their way through the house like veins, bringing some warmth to the ancient building -- all of these noises carried Athos back to his childhood and for a moment he imagined he was a young boy, tucked up in bed in the nursery wing of the house, one better than where the servants slept.

Turning his head returned him to the present. In his direct line of sight was Porthos, that handsome face peaceful, as it always was when he slept, vibrant energy quieted for the time being. A rustling of covers alerted him to the other love of his life and rolling onto his side he watched Raoul at play, hugging his threadbare glove puppet then throwing it aside to scrape inquisitive fingers along the mesh sides of the cot. Bored with that game the baby stood up and held on to the rigid edge, jumping up and down with excitement when he saw that Athos was awake.

“Daaa,” he shouted.

Athos reached out to carry him into the bed. “Shush, sweetheart. Papa’s asleep.”

“Not a chance,” came a rumble from beside them. “You won’t catch me missing out on any cuddles.”

Sitting in his usual spot between them, Raoul hammered a small fist against each of their chests, chattering away as he did so. 

“Do you think they do this?” asked Athos, hating the idea that Marie and Duke might offer Raoul a similar kind of loving family and yet hoping, for their son’s sake, that they did.

“I doubt it,” said Porthos, catching hold of Raoul and holding him up at a full arm stretch. “Bet they don’t make you into a flying monkey, do they?”

Athos watched them play and tried his best to push aside that internal panic, determined that nothing would ruin this weekend, but still he needed some reassurance. “If we lose-”

“We won’t,” interrupted Porthos.

Athos persisted. “But if we do they won’t stop us from seeing him, will they?”

Porthos sat Raoul back down between them. “They’d have to have some pretty strong reasons to do something as cruel as that.”

Athos dampened down his fears, concentrating instead on the present. “What do you want to do today?”

“Hunting shooting fishing,” grinned Porthos. “Whatever takes my lord’s fancy.”

“We’d best save that for tonight,” said Athos with a smirk. “Let’s go have a wander around the market and then drop in on your parents.”

“Sounds good,” said Porthos. “We can also check out that big antiques warehouse on the way into Piñon. We’re going to need a new bed for here as soon as bloody possible.”

The day began in idyllic fashion. After an enjoyable hour or two spent browsing for furniture, they found a bed which was perfect for them in every way and after much haggling got it down to a very reasonable price that included delivery and installation.

“All we need now is a comfortable mattress,” said Porthos as they made their way to the centre of Piñon and parked the car.

The old square was filled with market stalls, offering all manner of things from fresh local produce to bric-a-brac. One of the traders was selling beautifully carved wooden toys and they chose several pieces to hide away for Raoul’s birthday, giving him a small engine as a treat.

“We never used to spoil him,” said Athos, when Porthos was transfixed by a row of old fashioned teddy bears and had to buy him one of those too.

“He’s little and we don’t the chance very often,” replied Porthos as he tucked the toy into a bag. “Anyway, this is a de la Fère bear, green eyes and auburn hair. How was I ever supposed to resist that?”

Athos huffed with laughter. “You’re as hard as nails.”

“Yeah, just like you.” Porthos grinned at him and took over pushing the buggy, leading them away from the stalls and towards the bistro tables. “Go get us a coffee. I just spent the last of my money on Athos Jnr.”

With Raoul happy to sit in his pushchair, spinning the wheels of his train, they sat basking in the sunshine, drinking café au lait and feeling utterly content, until a conversation from nearby disturbed their peace.

“Look! It’s those men,” said a voice from behind them. “The ones I was telling you about who are trying to take that little boy away from his mother. It’s not right.”

“Disgraceful I call it,” said her companion.

“Disgusting even,” said the voice of the first speaker.

Athos didn’t look around. “Let’s go,” he said in an undertone.

“A couple of old gossips aren’t forcing me out of my home town,” said Porthos in stubborn mood. “Don’t know about you, but I’m finishing my coffee.”

By now the crowd was growing in number and Athos could hear the artificial click of camera phones firing off.

“You lot haven’t read anything other than the headlines,” said a newcomer who leaned in and patted Athos on the shoulder. “He’s been bringing up the baby since he was born. It’s the mother who walked out. Why shouldn’t he fight to get his son back?”

“Because they’re a couple of homos.”

“And what does that have to do with it,” said yet another speaker. “You can see the little one’s happy enough and well looked after. They’re not bloody paedophiles.”

“But how’s he going to feel when he has to go to school? What are the other kids going to say about him having two dads?”

“You’re stuck in the dark ages. Life’s not like that now. I’m with Milady de Winter. I’m all for equality.”

Athos cringed internally.

“You were married to her, weren’t you, love?” A middle aged woman pulled up a seat next to Athos. “What’s she like? She must be a nice person to be so supportive of you and your boyfriend. Did you two get divorced because she found out you were gay?”

“Excuse me,” said Athos who’d had enough of standing his ground. “We must go.”

“Thank you,” said Porthos beaming at the members of the crowd who were in support of them. “Wish us luck, folks. Raoul’s our son and he belongs with us-”

Athos escaped, pushing the buggy across the cobbled square and leaving Porthos behind to entertain the audience as he headed for the car park at full pelt. When Raoul began to yell he initially ignored him, but as the noise grew louder in volume he stopped and crouched beside the pushchair, not wanting to attract any more unwanted attention. “What is it, Raoul?” he hissed. 

“Choo.” The baby sobbed in distress. “Choo.”

“Train,” snapped Athos then realising that the toy was missing, he looked around to see where it had gone. The wooden engine was a few feet behind them, smashed on the stone walkway, one of its wheels broken right off. Athos picked up the pieces and stared at it. 

“Give it here,” said Porthos, out of breath from racing to catch them up. “I reckon I’ll be able to fix it.”

“Like you fix everything,” said Athos bitterly, walking back to the pushchair.

Frowning, Porthos took the bear out of its carrier bag and handed it to Raoul to pacify him.

“Seems I was wrong,” muttered Athos as the baby quietened down. “You _can_ successfully replace something old with something new after all.” 

They continued on to the car, fastening the baby into the seat and packing the stuff into the boot, then, without saying a word, Athos handed the keys to Porthos, staring out of the window as they drove out of town.

“You going to tell me why you’re so pissed off with me before we get to my folks’ place?” said Porthos. “I was under the impression that we were having a nice day.”

Mouth set in a thin line Athos glanced sideways at him. “You loved it back there. All that attention, even the negative stuff. It was a big show and you enjoyed every minute of it.”

“Don’t talk bollocks,” said Porthos with a frustrated shake of his head. “I make the most of things. It’s what I do. It’s how I get through the crappy bits of life. And, yeah, I like talking to people. Does that make me a bad person or a bad parent for wanting to tell them our side of the story?”

“No.” Athos sighed, nerves jangling and making him feel sick again. “But sometimes you remind me so much of Anne,” he confessed. 

Porthos face fell and he immediately pulled the car into the a lay-by at the side of the road. “I’d never hurt you the way she did,” he vowed. “I love you. You’re my whole world.”

“And you’re mine.” The anxiety was still building, Athos’ hands twisting together in his lap, but then there came a timely snore from the backseat, cutting through the tension, and both men laughed at such a huge noise coming from such a small person.

“The thing is that you and she are both so self assured and full of confidence,” continued Athos. “I used to be like that myself, but I can’t seem to get it back. I wish I was more like you, but I loathe all this carry on in front of the public. I just want to be a normal family. Is that too much to ask?”

“Of course it’s not.” Porthos reached over and patted his leg. “And we will be soon, especially if everyone in France is behind us.” He let his hand wander upwards. “You know what though, you’ll have to get used to being the centre of attention when I’m a famous movie star.”

“By then Raoul and I will be hiding in our mansion in the Hollywood hills,” smiled Athos. “It’ll make life so much easier.”

“Attaboy,” grinned Porthos as he swung the car back onto the road and continued on the short journey to his parents’ house. “Now no more temper tantrums or Mum’ll put you on the naughty step for a time out.”

The welcome from Annette and Guillaume was as warm as always. Gathered into the heart of the family, Athos relaxed and soaked up the atmosphere, quietly mulling over everything that had happened today. 

“So you are one of the local de la Fères then,” said Guillaume as he topped up Athos’ coffee cup. “Annette and I did wonder when Porthos told us your last name.” 

“I am,” admitted Athos. “It’s all been a bit of a mess, to be honest.”

“Life’s only like that when you let it take control of you,” advised Guillaume. “Tough it out and you’ll get that 'happy ever after' you and Porthos deserve.”

“Easier said than done,” said Athos and the searching look he received from Guillaume left him with a lot more to mull over.

After dinner, with Raoul being taken good care by of the younger members of the family, the two men sat outside on the porch drinking coffee, and whilst it was quiet Athos broached the subject that had been on his mind for the last few hours.

“Half those people today had no idea what this was all about,” he said thoughtfully. “I think we should ask Anne to set up an interview with the newspapers so we can tell our side of it.”

Porthos was silent for a while and Athos was about to recant his suggestion when his partner turned to him with a broad grin on his face.

“You beauty,” he said, landing a smacker of a kiss on Athos’ cheek. “That way everyone gets to hear our story. Call Milady now and see what she thinks of the idea.”


	30. Chapter 30

_Sitting on the living room floor of an apartment in a down-at-heel district of Paris that’s seen better days are the current favourites of the gossip columns. Olivier de La Fère, or Athos as he prefers to be known, is building a tower out of construction bricks whilst Raoul, his twenty month old son and the subject of the custody hearing that’s on everyone's lips, is laughing with delight, fist poised ready to smash it to pieces._

_Porthos du Vallon, partner of de la Fere explains why they decided to do this interview after initially refusing to speak to anyone about their situation._

_“We hear the rumours when we go out. We have accusations levelled at us all the time and we simply want to clear things up,” he says and immediately loses concentration when Raoul toddles over and demands his attention. “Sorry,” he says and the interview is put on hold so that he can read the baby a story all about a dog called Hairy Maclary._

_De la Fère takes over. “We’ve been raising Raoul since his mother left him with me when he was three weeks old. We had no contact at all with her for almost a year and when she did turn up asking to see Raoul on a regular basis we agreed for his sake.”_

_“It’s not exactly pleasant when you don’t know who your parents are,” interrupts du Vallon._

_His broad grin goes missing for a second, but is back as soon as Raoul requests the rest of the story._

_These two men come from very different backgrounds. De la Fère is descended from French nobility, a one time high flyer with a first class law degree from the Sorbonne, whereas du Vallon was brought up within the social care system and understands all too well how essential a solid upbringing is for a child._

_“Porthos’ foster family are a wonderful support to us,” says de la Fere. “They’re Raoul’s grandparents in every way and we make sure he sees them as often as possible.”_

_De la Fere’s own parents passed away several years ago and the only indirect family connection that remains on his side of the partnership is his unusual relationship with ex-wife, Milady de Winter, darling of the Republican Party who is standing as witness for them at the custody hearing, despite being a long time friend of Raoul’s mother Marie Michon._

_“It wasn’t always this amicable between Anne and I,” says Athos, his mouth tipping upwards into a smirk. “The divorce was a difficult time for me. Her lawyers were aggressive to say the least, but she and I get on much better these days.”_

_“They still argue,” laughs du Vallon who is now sitting on the floor again and helping Raoul set up a small toy zoo. “But we’re all good friends.” He pulls a face at Athos. “The monkey needs a nappy change. Is it your turn or mine?”_

_It’s clear that family life comes easy to them. After lunch, it’s time for their daily walk in the park and having waved at the photographers from his pushchair, Raoul is overjoyed when he catches sight of the swings._

_“You should see how excited he gets when he sees the sign for the zoo,” says Porthos._

_“You should see how excited Porthos gets,” deadpans de la Fere._

_It’s been a difficult year for these men, but they’re taking it in their stride. Du Vallon, an actor with a growing reputation within the industry, was forced to take a break after injuring his arm in a riding accident._

_“It was touch and go for a while,” he admits. “I even thought I might lose the use of my left arm, but I had a great surgeon who repaired the damage to my elbow. I’m a hundred percent fit now, but I’m putting everything on hold while we sort out this custody issue. I need to be there for Athos and our boy.”_

_He and Raoul are the big talkers in the family. De la Fere is more reticent, happy to remain in the background, coming up with the odd droll remark when it suits him. He’s so quiet most of the time that it’s hard to imagine him passing the bar._

_“After my divorce I rarely passed a bar,” he says with a self deprecating smirk. “Having Porthos and Raoul in my life has given me back purpose.” He loses focus for a moment and gazes at his partner who’s pushing the baby on the swing. That look conveys far more emotion than any words. “I’d never want to stop Marie having contact with Raoul, but I know in my heart that we’re the ones who should be bringing him up. He’s our son. We were his entire world for a year and we’re good at being his parents. Really good.”_

_The big question asked by the public is how easy will it be for Raoul having two fathers rather than a conventional family._

_“It’s not exactly unusual to have gay parents,” says du Vallon. “The issue here is how much easier it is to win a custody case when it’s a case of haves versus have nots. The social worker questioned so many things about us, all of it totally unwarranted. Some of the things he brought up were about us being gay, but most of it was to do with the fact that we have less money than the Michons. I don’t see that Raoul’s missing out on much not having a garden, but as it happens we’ve got a bloody big one now in the country.”_

_As well as being a witness for them Milady de Winter has also handed back the Chateau de la Fère to her former husband, which she acquired, unfairly she has since admitted, in the divorce settlement._

_“If only she could have given me a title then we’d win hands down,” says de la Fère in one of his frequent dry asides._

_“Not if we have a proper Republican for a judge,” chuckles du Vallon. “Not everyone's impressed by nobility, mate.”_

_“Dada,” contributes Raoul as he hands a dandelion to his father._

_“Thank you,” says de la Fère, taking Raoul from Porthos. “We don’t see that it matters whether we’re gay or straight, rich or poor. We love Raoul. We’ve brought him up since he was tiny and he belongs with us. We’re not trying to take him away from Marie and Duke; we simply want what’s best for our son.”_

_“Ess,” says the baby and honestly who has the right to argue with him?_

_The next stop is at a small café in a quiet square. The day seems too perfect to be true and it could seem like a setup if it wasn’t for the fact that the waitress knows Raoul by name and immediately fetches him a high chair and a biscuit. They’ve arranged to meet a friend here, Constance Bonacieux, who they first got to know at a baby group in the local community centre._

_Constance is young, forthright and determined. She secures her daughter Lily into another high chair beside Raoul and everyone laughs when the little girl steals Raoul’s biscuit. Everyone except Raoul who wails loudly._

_“She’s a bit of a bully,” apologises Constance. “She’s usually better behaved when Porthos is around.”_

_“Everyone's better behaved when Porthos is around,” smirks de la Fère._

_“Especially the yummy mummies at group,” says Constance and they share in the private joke._

_These two have an easy friendship, both utterly relaxed with each other, and it’s not at all difficult to see why they get along so well._

_“We used to spend a lot of time together,” says Constance wistfully. “We still do but mostly it’s just the four of us on play dates now.” Her mouth narrows into an angry line. “It’s not fair what the Michons are doing. It’s bloody criminal.”_

_De la Fère silences her with a look. She does as she’s asked but is clearly upset by the situation and hides her tears of anger as she bustles around wiping Lily’s face clean and then passing her a drink._

_“It’s okay,” says de la Fère quietly._

_“We’ll have him back soon,” adds du Vallon._

_Raoul has his arms up now and both dads are instantly on their feet, unstrapping him and sharing him out for cuddles. As he wriggles free, they chase after him and all three play together on the grass. It’s a happy picture of family life._

_Public sentiment may be divided on this case, but it’s clear that the two men are, in de la Fère’s own words, really good at being parents. They have a son who adores them, plus friends and family who are as strong a support network as anyone could wish for. Even de la Fere's former wife is on their side. They might be fighting an uphill battle, but it is one that only the hardest of hearts would deny they have a right to win. The courts will make up their own mind, but it is difficult to see why France won’t defer to the principles of liberté, egalité and fraternité, on which she was founded, and return Raoul de la Fère to the custody of his fathers._

\---

“What a perfect result!” said Anne as she read through the piece in the Sunday magazine for the third time. “We couldn’t have asked for more. I was taking a risk contacting Ariane to see if she was interested in writing about you, but it paid off.”

“What d’you mean taking a risk?” asked Porthos.

It amused Athos to see his partner slowly ditching the rose coloured spectacles as far as Anne was concerned.

“She’s a notoriously conservative journalist: a married mother of two who’s not renowned for being a vociferous supporter of gay rights,” explained Anne, looking altogether too pleased with herself.

“And you picked her because?” growled Porthos.

“I was certain you’d win her over,” smiled Anne. “You’re both very charming when you want to be.”

“What if it hadn’t worked out as you’d hoped?” Athos raised an eyebrow.

Anne shrugged. “I suppose we’d have found a more liberal thinking writer to do the next interview. Talking of which, what do you think about doing some television?”

Athos could see Porthos brightening, but he vetoed the idea immediately. “One run in with journalists is enough,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned our fate now lies entirely in the hands of the courts.”


	31. Chapter 31

Today was judgement day and the circus was out in force. With Porthos holding onto his hand for reassurance, Athos steeled himself as he looked out at the horde from the passenger window of the taxi. Adopting as cool a façade as he could manage, he clung tightly to Porthos and ploughed his way through the clamouring crowds. Though still classed as informal, the hearing was being held in one of the smaller courts in the building rather than a conference room and this added extra poundage to the tension that was already bearing down on his shoulders.

“Don’t look so petrified,” hissed Anne. “Let everyone talk you up and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

This time they’d gathered a number of people to speak on their behalf. As well as Anne, they also had Porthos’ parents, plus the kindly nurse from the health centre. Unfortunately the Michons also had their own character witnesses and this was the reason that Athos was currently suffering terribly with his nerves.

“Hey! Long time no see, Aramis,” said Porthos as guileless as always as he approached his ex boyfriend for a hug. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Athos’ world began to crumble and he sat down heavily on the leather upholstered bench seat. It was the one thing he hadn’t been able to tell anyone and now it was to be his downfall.

“Athos, guess who’s here?” said Porthos. “If this is the best they can manage then we’re sorted.”

Aramis nodded at Aramis. A sotto voce ‘hello’ was all he could manage before making his excuses and scurrying off to the gents’ toilets. Dizzy, that humming sound in his ears indicative of what was about to happen, he made it just in time to throw up his breakfast. Close to passing out, he leant against the door of the stall, breathing in and out to pull himself together for a moment, before flushing and then leaving the cubicle in order to wash his hands and splash some cold water on his face.

It had been his job to investigate everyone who’d be at the hearing today and he’d messed up, concentrating on the judge rather than the list of character witnesses. Once again, he’d failed Raoul.

There was the sound of the door opening behind him and he looked up, hoping that it would be Aramis he’d see reflected in front of him so that he could confront his demons head on, but instead it was Porthos, smiling as always and beautiful.

“What you doing hiding in here, love?” said his partner. “They’ll be calling us through in a minute.”

Both of them were dressed in their best suits, with immaculately pressed shirts and ties neatly knotted. Anne had told them that these details mattered, especially with a female judge who would be more likely to view meticulous presentation as a positive sign. But today Athos knew it wouldn’t make an iota of difference.

His eyes connected with Porthos’ trusting brown ones. “I messed up,” he said in a monotone. “That night when I went off the rails and got drunk-” He couldn’t bring himself to continue.

“Go on,” said Porthos, growing more concerned as every second passed.

“I took cocaine,” Athos confessed. “It wasn’t the first time.”

Porthos stood next to him at the row of wash basins and braced himself on the granite top. “You’re telling me you have a drug habit? Now? When we’re about to go into court and fight for custody of our son? I don’t fucking well believe it.”

“No.” Athos shook his head. “No, not at all. It was never like that. It was never out of control. I haven’t done it since and I won’t ever again.”

“I suppose you’re telling me this because Aramis knows about it.” Porthos sounded so unlike himself, hard and emotionless.

This time Athos nodded. “I should have mentioned it before.”

“Really? You think?” 

The look Porthos threw at him was one of utter contempt and the ringing in his ears began again. With nothing left to throw up, faintness took over from nausea and Athos swayed, leaning forward and splashing more water on his face to bring himself back to life.

“It was just once since Raoul was born,” he whispered.

“Well, we have to hope that that once isn’t enough to lose us our son for good,” said Porthos, curling a hand around Athos’ bicep. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

The courtroom was dark and oppressive, more like a modern lecture theatre with its utilitarian lighting and grey-purple colour scheme. The surroundings leeched even more life out of Athos and he sank down onto the bench, wishing fervently that there was a pause button he could press in order to put the world on hold and allow him a chance to stop and think. 

“Reckon we should have hired a lawyer,” he heard Porthos mutter to Anne and he knew they were both looking at him. 

He, in contrast, couldn’t look at anyone, not even the judge who was presiding over the case and was currently imposing her wishes on the courtroom, reiterating to everyone that this might be an informal hearing but that all witnesses were still required to swear that they would tell the truth, the whole truth. 

_Nothing but the truth._

It began and, from the offset, the Michons’ legal team were belligerent in their offensive tactics, questioning every single point brought up until the judge had had enough.

“Stop badgering the witnesses,” she said. “This is not helping proceedings in the slightest. It’s only prolonging matters. Continue please,” she said to Annette.

“I have nothing much else to add,” said Porthos’ mum. “Only that the boys are responsible parents who’ll do anything and everything for that little boy and have coped marvellously with a very difficult situation. Many people would have handed a new-born straight over to the social care system.”

“We’re not talking about many people,” said the judge, berating Annette gently.

“No, we’re not,” she replied, using those words to her own advantage. “We’re talking about two strong, kind men who have proved themselves to be wonderful at raising their little boy.”

The nurse from the clinic was next to speak up for them and she turned out to be a gift, describing in detail the many ways in which they had shown how determined they were to ensure that Raoul thrived under their care. 

“They’ve never missed an appointment,” she said. “M de la Fère and M du Vallon are devoted parents, only too keen to take advice over every single matter concerning Raoul’s health and development.”

During the recess Athos forced himself to relax, drinking the coffee that had been handed to him whilst sitting next to a grim and silent statue.

“I think we’re doing okay,” he said, hoping that Porthos would at least look at him. 

The big man continued to stare at the ugly framed print in front of him. “For now,” he said eventually.

Anne had been pacing up and down for the last five minutes, talking on her phone. She then hung up abruptly and stopped in front of them. “I’m going to delay my testimony,” she said. “There’s someone vitally important that I need to speak to and I must do it immediately.”

“You can’t just leave,” said Porthos, colour draining from his face with the onset of panic. Athos recognised the symptoms well enough by now.

“I’ll speak to the judge first and explain,” said Anne. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

The rats were deserting the sinking ship, thought Athos as he let his eyes fall closed just for a moment, enough to block out the world.

The hearing resumed, with their side of the room feeling massively depleted in strength now that Anne had left them to be picked off one by one by the gathering of wolves.

The Michons’ nanny, Montessori trained from a specialist academy in London, spoke up to describe how excellent Marie was at rearing her son.

“Despite having a busy job she always has time for Raoul,” she said in a well rehearsed speech.

“Except when you’re on holiday,” interjected Porthos. “Then she can’t wait to let Raoul stay over at ours.”

“Objection,” cried one of the lawyers.

“M du Vallon, if you interrupt proceedings again you will be ejected from here.” The judge frowned at Porthos. “Though it is a valid point that has been raised,” she added as she turned to Marie. “Remembering that you are under oath, Mme Michon, would you agree that you’re more likely to allow Raoul to stay with his father when your nanny is away?”

“I-” Marie frowned, for once lost for words. “Duke and I have a busy life and sometimes alternative provisions for childcare must be arranged at short notice.”

“Have you _asked_ M de la Fère to look after Raoul when these occasions have arisen?”

“I have,” admitted Marie.

“Is he always obliging?” questioned the judge.

“Yes,” said Marie, glancing at Athos. “He is."

“He shoots, he scores,” murmured Porthos and then he reached out unexpectedly to grab hold of Athos’ hand. “We not down and out just yet.”

Athos squeezed back, gaining comfort from Porthos’ presence. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said under his breath. “I’m sorry about everything.”

“I got your back, babe,” said Porthos. “There’s nothing we could have done about it anyway, even if you had told us before. All we can do is look as relaxed as possible and ride out the storm when it hits.”

When Aramis stood up to speak it was conducted in a much more formal manner than the testimonies of the other character witnesses, with the lawyers guiding him along a carefully constructed path.

“Your name is Dr Aramis d’Herblay and you’re an emergency registrar at the University Hospital here in Paris.”

“Yes, I am,” said Aramis.

“On the night of November 20th 2014 you were in attendance when M de la Fère was brought in to the Emergency department by ambulance.”

“That’s correct,” said Aramis.

“And how would you describe his condition?”

“He’d drunk too much,” said Aramis. “He was incoherent, suffering from alcohol poisoning and I made the decision to have his stomach pumped.”

“Would you say he was violent at the time?” asked the lawyer.

“He was aggressive as drunk people often are,” said Aramis. “How many of us haven’t gone on a night out and had too much to drink?”

The lawyer ignored his question. “He was _aggressive_ enough that you felt the need to have him restrained.”

“I did,” said Aramis. “But only for his own safety. He was not a danger to anyone else. He simply wanted to discharge himself and go home, however I considered it essential that we keep him under observation for the night.”

The lawyer consulted his notes. “Were any tests carried out at the time?”

“Blood was taken to check his alcohol levels,” said Aramis. “It’s routine under the circumstances.”

“And did you suspect M de la Fère of being under the influence of any other narcotic substances?”


	32. Chapter 32

There was silence in the courtroom. Athos remained rigidly impassive, the tight hold he had on Porthos’ hand the only outward sign of any emotion. For the sake of his family he would not allow himself to show any sign of vulnerability. He knew Marie would be sitting there on the benches, a smug expression on her face. He was aware that she’d have heard about his occasional habit for party drugs--she was no angel herself, for God’s sake--but he’d never dreamt that the linebackers in her legal team would have dug up this much dirt on him.

“No,” said Aramis, his voice ringing out clear and concise around the room. “A combination of alcohol combined with other narcotic substances can be fatal and if I’d suspected anything then I would have ordered more blood tests.”

Athos was overwhelmed with gratitude. Once again Aramis had put his job on the line for him, a man he hardly knew. People believed in him, cared enough to do this much for him and if only he could stop being riddled with self doubt then all might be okay. He was a good father. He and Porthos were both good fathers. His skin beaded with sweat and his heart began to pound.

“Thank you, Dr d’Herblay,” said the Michons’ lead lawyer. “That will be all.”

Aramis turned to the judge, switching on his charm. “I’d like to add something else, if I may.”

“Does it have any relevance?” she replied, seemingly unimpressed by his brilliant smile as she glanced up at the clock instead.

“I believe it does,” said Aramis. “I met M de la Fère once before when he brought Raoul into the hospital for treatment. The baby was a month old and was suffering from a chest infection. M de la Fère was sleep deprived and panicked, as all new parents are when faced with that situation, but he was utterly devoted to his child. M du Vallon was there supporting him as a friend at the time and was equally concerned about the baby’s welfare. In my professional opinion I can’t imagine two people better suited to having custody of this child.”

“Have you met M de la Fère since?” asked the judge.

“No,” said Aramis. “But having heard all that I have done today then I fully stand by my opinion.”

“Thank you,” said the judge dismissing Aramis with a nod of the head.

The next person began to speak in a droning voice. Another doctor, Marie’s psychiatrist this time, explaining in full medical jargon about the effects of her post natal depression. It was important, vital to understand, but Athos began to zone out and the world around him grew muddled. 

Aware that something was wrong, Porthos squeezed his hand firmly to try and bring him back. He looked to his right, concentrating on his partner, and could see his mouth moving, but couldn’t make out the words. His field of vision began to deteriorate, whiting out around the edges and as the nausea began to rise he had no choice but to escape. Heart hammering in his chest he tried to stand up but his muscles failed to respond and he slumped sideways against Porthos. 

The courtroom, which moments ago had been so still, now turned into a hive of activity. Athos heard scurrying footsteps and found himself lying horizontally across the bench seating, looking up at the recessed spotlights in the ceiling.

“We need help here,” yelled Porthos.

“Give him some air,” said Aramis. “That’s it, Athos. Breathe now, slow and steady. I’m positive this is a panic attack, but I’m going to call an ambulance to be on the safe side. Porthos said that you’ve been feeling ill a lot recently.”

“I’m okay,” said Athos trying to sit up, but his body still refused to respond. He could hear Duke Michon complaining to the judge that this was merely a case of delaying tactics, Aramis countering this with discussion of heart rates and blood pressure, but all Athos could think of was Raoul. If it turned out that he was ill, mentally or physically, then they’d never get custody.

“I did promise I’d be back soon,” said Anne, looking down on him from above, a worried smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “There was no need for this kind of performance.”

“Athos hates performances,” growled Porthos. “He leaves those to you and me.”

“We’ll recess and resume when M de la Fère is well enough to continue,” declared the judge.

“I say we finish this now,” said Duke. “De la Fère doesn't need to be here for our testimonies.”

“M Michon, I am in charge of this court,” said the judge. “And I _will_ be taking note of the fact that you think it appropriate to carry on a custody hearing when the parent contesting the case is not well enough to be present.”

“That told him,” muttered Porthos, still holding Athos’ hand. “The ambulance is here now, darling. You try and relax and I’ll see you at the hospital.”

“I don’t need to go to hospital.” Athos stared up at him, pleading for assistance.

“Yeah you do,” smiled Porthos. “We need to make sure that you’ll be fit enough to chase around after our little boy when he gets home.”

Athos held his gaze. “It’s not looking good for us,” he said. “They know that I gave myself alcohol poisoning when I was responsible for Raoul. We’re still gay and unsuitable. Nothing’s changed.”

“Bollocks,” said Porthos. “Everything's changed. You’re just feeling too poorly to see it.”

This time Athos remembered every moment of the ambulance journey, the sensation of being lifted and carried, the pressure from the cuff around his arm. A feeling of abject helplessness led to yet another attack and, hanging onto the edge of consciousness, he let himself drift.

There was an old clock high up on the wall that was no longer needed. Its power source had long since been disconnected, but Athos still stared at it as if it could explain to him the passage of time. He’d had endless samples of blood taken and had been wired up to a monitor for what seemed like days now so why would no-one tell him what was the matter?

When Aramis eventually appeared, suit discarded in favour of regulation scrubs, Athos directed every ounce of faith at him. 

“I finally get a day off from this place and you drag me right back here,” said the doctor, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The good news is that all those tests have told us you’re a healthy man with no sign of heart disease or high blood pressure. The bad news is that the massive amount of stress you’ve been under is leading you down a path to panic disorder rather than just suffering the occasional panic attack.”

“Oh,” said Athos bleakly. It all sounded rather pathetic, but at the same too much like the onset of madness for comfort’s sake.

“Has this only been happening since you’ve had custody of the baby?” asked Aramis. 

Athos stared at him, his heart pounding once again.

“Relax,” said Aramis, patting his arm. “I’ve done my testifying. I’m certain they can’t call me to the witness stand again. Anyway, this has no bearing on Raoul’s custody.”

“It might,” said Athos. “Can you make me better?”

“That’s up to you in a lot of ways,” said Aramis. “Now are you going to answer my question?”

Athos sighed. “I suppose it’s been building for years. When things began to fall apart, so did I.”

“If you don’t deal with stress then it will manifest itself with these kind of symptoms,” said Aramis. “And if you allow the panic disorder to take over then you’ll have attacks from the fear of having attacks. You don’t want that to happen.”

“So what can you do?” asked Athos, fighting another tide of nausea. 

“Medication will help. I’ll also refer you to a psychologist here who specialises in cognitive behaviour therapy,” he said. “But in the short term, chill out.”

“I can help him do that,” said Porthos, “but I’m not sure this little feller will.”

“Daaaaaa.” Raoul landed on the bed with a thump and launched himself at Athos. “My pengin,” he said, hitting Athos over the head with the soft toy.

Athos hugged the little boy, kissing the top of his head. “How did you-?” Happy tears leaked down the sides of his face.

“I guilted the Michons into it,” said Porthos. The bed was getting pretty full now that he was taking up the far side. “Told them it was their fault that you got sick. That they came close to giving you a heart attack.” He leaned in and kissed Athos soundly on the mouth. “Course, I could only say that once Aramis here had promised me that you weren’t. I was too frightened before then.”

Fascinated by the blood pressure cuff, which was automatically inflating itself, Raoul was trying his best to remove the tubes.

“Enough of that,” said Aramis, picking him up. “We need that working to make sure daddy’s well enough to go home.” He hefted Raoul upwards. “You were a tiny thing when I last saw you and now look at you, all big and bouncy.”

Raoul chuckled in that throaty way of his and removed Aramis’ stethoscope, trying to escape with his prize.

“Not for babies,” said Aramis firmly, taking it back. “Go cuddle daddy and I’ll get the discharge papers sorted.” He grinned at Athos. “Why stay overnight in hospital when you can go home with these two gorgeous men?”

The ward began to fill with more and more people. Not just people, Athos realised, but friends and family, all of them caring about him and wanting to make sure that he was all right. Annette and Guillaume were fussing over him as if they were his own son and Constance was here, asking them about the case and glancing occasionally at Aramis.

“That’s Adele’s doctor,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I told you he was handsome.”

That evening, after dropping Raoul back at Michon Towers, Athos spoke frankly, perhaps for the first time since losing custody.

“If we don’t get him back we’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ll still see him for weekends and holidays. He’ll still love us and we’ll love him. I have all I need right here,” he added, pressing his palm against Porthos’ cheek. “I’m a happy man.”

“Finally he gets it,” said Porthos with an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “I love you, you plonker.” He kissed Athos’ palm. “And if you’re feeling up to it I wouldn’t mind showing you exactly how much.”

“Will it involve taking me to see the penguins?” smirked Athos.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Guffawing with laughter, Porthos got up off the sofa and held a hand out to Athos. “Let’s go.”

Bed was everything Athos needed to complete his recovery, hours of gentle pleasure as they twisted and turned between the sheets, touching, kissing, reconnecting fully as they made love.

“For a moment there in court I thought I was going to lose you,” said Porthos and he had the shine of tears in his eyes.

“Who’s being the morbid one now?” said Athos, kissing away the unhappiness. “We’re going to live forever, remember?”

“Doing this,” said Porthos, back to his old self as he rolled Athos over and pushed back into him. “Until we’re old and grey.”

Next morning was a prolonged case of rinse and repeat followed by a shower carried out at breakneck speed seeing as it was well past time to leave for the courthouse.

“You’re late,” hissed Anne as she passed Athos a dossier of notes. “This is the reason I had to leave yesterday. What I’ve been trying to get hold of for weeks. It was well hidden. It’s up to you to decide what we do with it.”

Athos read through the documents and then passed the folder to Porthos. He glanced at the Michons who were sitting across the hallway from them, less supercilious now that things were starting to come apart a little, and he wondered what to do for the best.

“If we use this against them then we’ll win,” said Porthos.

“But at whose expense?” asked Athos.


	33. Chapter 33

The discussion that followed was brief but intense, the decision at the end one of mutual three way agreement.

“I’m staying out of negotiations,” said Anne. “It’ll only antagonise matters if I’m involved. You have a word with Duke and Marie whilst I arrange a meeting room with the court officer.”

“This is it,” said Athos, gripping the dossier in one hand and clinging on tightly to Porthos. “We are doing the right thing?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” Porthos curled an arm around him. “It’s up to them now. The ball's in their court.” He shrugged. “Or not as the case may be.”

Athos wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful as they approached the Michons, a small but united front up against a fully armed assault squad. He doubted Marie would ever accept the fact that the world didn’t entirely revolve around her. His only hope was that being a parent had changed her. It had certainly changed him.

“I was wondering whether we might have a word in private,” he said. “Just the four of us. Raoul’s family.” They were past the point of an official mediator. This could only be resolved between them.

Instantly their lead lawyer was on his feet, ready to launch a string of objections, but he was silenced by Duke who then addressed Athos in person.

“What could we possibly have to discuss?” he asked.

“A way forward,” said Athos simply. 

Marie studied him curiously and, for once, he didn’t fall prey to the pins and needles of panic.

“Why would we do this?” she asked.

“For Raoul,” he replied. “After all this is supposed to be about him.”

Before entering the meeting room that had been assigned to them, Athos took a deep breath.

“You can do this,” said Porthos in a low voice. “I got your back.”

These words had become Athos’ lodestone, his everything. Finally now he was able to believe in the ‘always’ that Porthos had promised him from the beginning.

“Whatever happens today, know that I love you,” he said and putting the dossier on the table, he cupped Porthos’ face and pressed a heartfelt kiss to his lips.

“Backatcha,” grinned Porthos.

This time, rather than being on opposite sides of the long table, they gathered together around one end.

“Well?” said Duke. “You called us in here. What do you have to say?”

“We have information,” said Athos. “Something that will change the entire outcome of this hearing.” As he pushed copies of the documents across the table, he could see tension mount in the man, his jaw clenched, lines furrowing his brow. What Anne had unearthed was undoubtedly true.

“You slept with my wife,” accused Michon, studiously ignoring the folder in front of him.

Athos had been expecting to be confronted with this for a long time, but that didn’t make it any easier. “I did,” he said. “My behaviour, _our_ behaviour that night was appalling and I apologise. I’d regret it wholeheartedly if it wasn’t for Raoul. Other than Porthos, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I wanted to hate that baby,” said Michon. “The only reason I agreed to see him at all was to get back at you, but he’s such a sweet little kid it’s impossible not to love him. I enjoy being his father.”

“Yeah well, so do we,” muttered Porthos, keeping a tight hold of Athos’ hand under the table.

“Duke can’t have children,” explained Marie. “We’d been trying for years and when I got pregnant I prayed for a miracle, but I knew in my heart he’d be yours.” She stared at Athos across the table. “It wasn’t a lie when I told the court that I was ill with postnatal depression when I left him with you. Nothing I’ve said has been a lie. Duke and I came close to splitting up over this, but we love each other, we always have, and we wanted to make our marriage work. We talked about using sperm donors, but all I could think about was my baby.”

“Raoul is my baby too,” said Athos. “Porthos and I raised him since he was tiny and you took him away from us.” He leafed through the documents in front of him. “But this meeting is about something entirely different and I think you both know that.”

“If you do this you’ll break Marie,” said Michon in a low voice.

So much had been broken already and as far as Athos was concerned it was time to begin the process of mending lives rather than shattering them, but to do so he had to remain strong.

“We aren’t the ones that matter here,” he said and keeping his eyes fixed on the American he continued to speak. “Eighteen years ago you were found guilty of assaulting your girlfriend, Jasmine Delainey. The attack was carried out in front of her three year old child.”

“It wasn’t an attack,” said Duke. “Jasmine and I were arguing and things got out of hand.”

Silence descended. Marie’s lips tightened into a nervous line and it was clear that she had known about this for a long time. Perhaps it was good that they had an honest relationship. 

“It wasn’t an attack,” repeated Duke but then he wilted in front of them. “I did hit Jasmine. I regretted it immediately and have done ever since.”

“You hit her hard enough for her to fall back against the wall and knock herself out,” accused Porthos.

“I called 911 immediately,” said Duke, words spilling out in a flood as if he was relieved to be able to confess everything in his own way, without the manipulation of lawyers present. “Kira was crying and I tried to comfort her, but she was terrified at seeing her mother like that and I couldn’t calm her down. I was frightened too, sick at what I’d done. I never meant to hurt Jasmine. When I found out she was okay I thanked God. I wasn’t surprised when she pressed charges and to be honest I didn’t give a damn. I was positive it would mean the end of my career, but I knew that I deserved it.”

“And yet it turned out that you were too good a footballer for such an insignificant thing as battering a woman to stand in your way.” Porthos snorted with disgust. “I'm never going to understand this bloody world.”

Under cover of the table Athos squeezed his hand. “We have to decide whether to bring this up at the hearing today. You punched your girlfriend hard enough to cause her to lose consciousness and you did it in front of her baby daughter.”

“I was twenty years old and I made a horrible mistake,” said Duke, his mask slipping completely to reveal the genuine man beneath. “I’d been drinking. I haven’t touched a drop since and I never will. I swear to you, on my honour.”

Athos aimed a pointed look at him. “And yet you were happy enough to discredit me in front of the judge for a much lesser offence. When I drank too much I ended up putting _myself_ in hospital rather than another innocent person.”

“We weren't intending-”

“Please,” said Athos, holding up a hand. “I know what you were intending to do. Let me finish. What Porthos and I have to decide upon today is whether Raoul is safe when he’s with you.”

“I’d never hurt him,” said Duke earnestly. “He’s a wonderful kid and I love him.”

“I promise you he’s safe,” said Marie, that ice queen composure melting away. “Athos, I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. I’m sorry for abandoning Raoul with you. I’m sorry for taking him away. I’m sorry for all of this mess. He’s our son and I love him and I’d never put him in harm’s way so please don’t punish me by taking him away from me.”

“That’s a bloody cheek for starters,” said Porthos, folding his arms.

“Don’t worry,” murmured Athos. “I’ve got this. Keep calm.”

Porthos’ frown dissolved away and he smiled at him, enjoying the irony of the moment. “Then be my guest and carry on, love,” he said.

This was it, thought Athos. He could feel the beginnings of a panic attack nipping at the edges of his senses, but it was vital that he remained in control. Grateful for Aramis’ prescription, along with those bolstering words from him in the courtroom, he composed himself before speaking.

“We could punish you the way you punished us,” he began. “We could use this information against you to get full custody of Raoul and we’d win. You could employ a thousand more lawyers and we’d still win.” He looked down at the court records that Anne had obtained from the US, taking time over his choice of words. He wanted it to be absolutely clear that he wasn’t conceding to them the way he had done in the past. “The thing is that the only person we’d actually be hurting in all this would be Raoul. You two might have busy lives and make use of a nanny, but I can see how much he loves you. Part of me hates admitting this, but you’re good parents just the same as we are. What Porthos and I would like is for us to come to an arrangement where we share parenting of our son. Where we consider Raoul as top priority and decide together what’s best for him jointly. Where we have a mutually beneficial relationship in which we all win, especially Raoul. That’s what we’re proposing today and I hope you both agree that it makes sense.”

The Michons looked at one another.

“How about we leave you alone to have a chat about it,” said Porthos, getting to his feet. “I bet Athos here could do with a coffee after all that speech making.”

“I could indeed,” said Athos, following him out of the meeting room. Closing the door he stumbled in exhaustion, propping himself up against the plaster coloured walls, breath catching in his throat. He was trembling beneath the surface and the remedy for this was never going to come from a prescription pad.

“You did it,” said Porthos, those strong arms encircling him, breath warm against Athos’ skin. “You only bloody did it.”

“Don’t be hasty. We don’t know anything yet,” warned Athos, pulling away a little. 

“But I do know,” said Porthos with utter sincerity. “I’m an actor. I study responses in people and I could see how relieved they both were when you suggested co-parenting. Believe me, darling, you did it.”

“Personally, I’d like to amend that to _we_ did it,” said a clipped voice from behind them. “I think you’ll find my information, last minute admittedly, was a key factor in this.”

Athos nodded in agreement with his ex wife although he was firmly of the opinion that a combination of Anne’s determination and Porthos’ strength were just as vital to their success as the uncovering of Duke’s criminal background.

“I’ve had a word with the judge,” said Anne. “She’s entirely happy that this can be resolved through mediation, although she will need to finalise any decision you come to with an official custody order.”

“Shall I hurry them up?” grinned Porthos, his fingers closing around the door handle of the meeting room.

“No,” said Athos, empathising for once with the couple inside. If they agreed to this then he and Porthos would be the ones gaining from today, whereas they would be giving up fifty percent of their access to Raoul which wouldn’t be easy. “Give them time.”

The moment the Michons emerged from the room Athos knew that he and Porthos had won. Although truthfully it was a far better result than that, because on some level they had all been the victors today, especially Raoul. Now it was just a matter of wrangling out details.

Once the judge had approved the decision she eyed all four parents with a steely gaze. “For the sake of your child, please find a way of making this work. I’ll be far from lenient in the future if I discover that any of you are contesting this custody order for petty reasons.”

Dismissed, the four of them gathered in a circle outside the courtroom, nobody quite sure how to proceed from here. It would take time to learn how to communicate. There was a world of hurt between them that wouldn’t disappear overnight.

“Thank you,” said Marie to Athos, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “This will be best solution for Raoul in the long term.”

“It will,” said Athos. Now, with a little fine tuning, their son would finally have all the support he needed.

“How are you feeling after yesterday?” she asked. “I apologise for causing you so much stress.”

“He’s fine and fit,” said Porthos, looping an arm around Athos’ waist and answering for him. “I’d suggest we all go out and celebrate together, but I think that’s definitely a step too far.”

“Maybe for Raoul’s eighteenth birthday.” Athos shrugged. Who knew? They might even have become an extended family by then. All of a sudden he felt the weight slide from his shoulders as disbelief turned to utter relief. “When can we collect him?” he asked with a shy smile, letting the seeds of happiness take root.

“How about Saturday morning?” said Marie. “From then on we can do alternate weeks, or whatever suits best. Talking of birthdays, I hope we won’t end up fighting over his next one?”

“You can put on a big do for the day,” said Athos. “We’ll be happy enough taking him to the zoo.”

“I was thinking we could go to Disneyland again,” suggested Porthos. “I need to get a picture of you and Raoul with Goofy.”

“I’m sure Constance took several of those at Lily’s party,” replied Athos, smirking when the penny dropped and Porthos’ eyes narrowed.

“Hello, gentlemen,” said Anne, walking elegantly over to meet up with them, heels clicking on the tiled floor. “Marie.”

As the two women faced each other in the corridor, Athos wondered whether this show down would escalate into a war of words or descend into stony silence. In fact neither was the case.

“I know why you did this,” said Marie. “Athos and Porthos were a useful foothold to get your campaign off to a strong start.”

“Partly that,” said Anne with a tilt of the head as acknowledgement. “But there were other reasons too. You were wrong trying to take that baby away from them.” She glanced sideways at Athos. “And also I wanted to make amends.”

“You did,” said Athos. “Thank you.”

“You may not be quite so grateful when you see the crowds that have gathered outside,” replied Anne, her eyes lighting up with amusement. “The papers are loving this. Your collapse yesterday made for wonderful headlines.”

Athos groaned at the thought.

“Come on, sweetheart,” said Porthos, champing at the bit from the idea of all those photographers. “Let’s go tell them what happened. We may as well make the most of it because we’ll soon be yesterday's news.”

“Until you’re Hollywood’s next superstar,” replied Athos with a smile. He fully believed that one day it would happen. Porthos was far too talented to remain undiscovered for much longer.

Today, the clamour of the public didn’t bother him in the slightest. He even answered some questions from journalists about his health, although he let the others do most of the talking about their agreement to share custody of Raoul.

“How will this affect your campaign, Milady?” shouted one of the reporters.

“This case had nothing whatsoever to do with my political career,” said Anne, though Athos could see from the satisfied quirk of her lips that it was causing no harm on that front.

After posing for some pictures on the steps they escaped into three different cars, two of the vehicles driven by chauffeurs and the third a simple taxi cab.

“This feels kind of surreal,” said Porthos once they were safely back home. “We should have Raoul here with us.”

“We will soon enough,” said Athos, wrapping his arms around his wonderful rock of a man. “But for now let’s take advantage of the peace and go unmake the bed.”


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the last two chapters today, this one and a short epilogue. Thank you so much for all the kind words and support. As always you're the best. <3

“Daddy, Papa, ‘lo,” screeched Raoul, tugging free of Marie’s hand and tumbling forwards into Athos’ arms, nearly falling flat on his face.

Marie shrugged apologetically. “He’s been a handful this week. I think he’s taking the approach of the terrible twos very seriously. I’ll lend you our nanny if you like.”

“We’ll manage,” said Athos with a tilt of the lips. “We’re going to visit Porthos’ parents. We have a whole army of childminders there.”

“You two enjoy your week off,” said Porthos after he’d kissed the baby hello.

“We certainly shall,” said Marie. “See you on Saturday, Raoul. Be a good boy for your daddies.”

“Bye bye, Mama,” sang Raoul, waving frantically and dropping his penguin rucksack in all the excitement.

“This thing is getting way too small,” said Porthos as he picked it up. 

“You know he won’t go anywhere without it,” said Athos, strapping Raoul into the car seat. 

“Not even if we let him choose another one from the gift shop at the zoo?” said Porthos hopefully.

“Any old excuse,” laughed Athos. “And no. Not today. Annette and Guillaume are expecting us.”

With the sound system in the car blaring out a compilation of Disney songs, Athos was unable to control the swell of utter happiness inside him. It overwhelmed him the way panic had once done, and he had to swig from his water bottle in order to swallow down the surplus emotion.

“Daft bugger,” chuckled Porthos. “You ain’t fooling me for a minute.”

“Drinky,” demanded Raoul from the backseat.

“What do you say?” asked Athos.

“Drinky pease,” amended Raoul with a baby sigh of annoyance.

Athos dug deep into the bag at his feet and after taking the lid off the drinking cup he passed it back to his son. “What do you say now?”

“Ta.” Raoul beamed with cherubic delight.

Now it was Athos’ turn to sigh. “Thank you. Thank you is what you say. What’s ta even supposed to mean?” He looked accusingly at Porthos who chuckled.

“He might be a proper little de la Fère, but I can still be a bad influence on him.”

“A good influence most of the time,” replied Athos with a secret smile. “In fact I find all of you very good indeed.”

“I should bloody well hope so,” said Porthos, slapping a hand down on Athos’ thigh.

“Buddy well,” parroted Raoul from behind them.

“Sorry,” said Porthos with an apologetic grin.

“It’s fine,” said Athos as he relaxed back in the seat, watching the scenery change as they drove away from the suburbs.

“A whole new world, “ sang the music and he was beginning to realise how true it was.

Ten minutes later they arrived at Porthos’ parents house only to find that the driveway was full of cars.

“What the-?” said Porthos, stopping just in time before the F word escaped his lips. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s arranged a party for us,” said Athos, recognising Constance's Audi and immediately picking her out as a ring leader.

“I’m sorry,” said Porthos and he leaned over to peck Athos on the lips. “Mum and Dad love to do this kind of thing. If it's too much for you then we’ll run off back to La Fère.”

“It’s okay,” said Athos, popping one of his pills just to make sure that there’d be no minor freak outs. “Raoul will enjoy it.”

And so he did. Soon the baby was being passed from arm to arm, bouncing from all the extra attention and showing off his favourite new phrase, causing his father extreme embarrassment.

“Don’t worry,” said Annette when Athos cringed as yet another ‘buddy well’ could be heard ringing out around the living room. “If you make a fuss he’ll keep doing it. If you ignore it he’ll forget.”

“Worked well with Porthos then?” said Athos, raising an amused eyebrow.

“It was far too late when he came to us,” laughed Annette. “By the way, I’m very pleased at the way things turned out. It’s good that Raoul gets to be a constant part of all your lives. This arrangement should work well.”

“I hope so,” said Athos. “We’ve agreed to be flexible which will suit us as far as Porthos’ acting goes. I’d also like to go back to work once Raoul’s a little older and this gives me the scope to do that too.”

“It’s nice to hear you planning a future at last,” said Annette, about to top up Athos’ wine.

He refused with a hand covering the glass and instead took the bottle from her. “Go sit down,” he insisted. “You’ve done enough. It’s my turn to look after everyone.”

“Thanks, love,” she said, sinking into a fireside chair. “I could do with putting my feet up.”

After an hour of doling out drinks and chatting to guests, Athos was in the process of opening another bottle when he heard a gruff voice calling to him from somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

“Hey, Ath. Stop being a waiter and come here a tick.”

“I’m helping Mum,” he explained once he’d hunted down the source.

Porthos was standing in the hallway surrounded by a group of mostly familiar faces. Aramis was struggling to keep hold of Raoul who was trying to smear chocolate all over Lily. The little girl in turn was desperate to thump him and was being restrained by Constance. 

“This is Adele,” said Porthos, ignoring all the baby shenanigans and introducing the voluptuous strawberry blonde who was standing between him and Aramis.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Athos with a polite smile. The woman was attractive but not quite the siren he’d imagined when he heard tales of her conquests.

“And this is d’Artagnan,” said Constance proudly as she moved Lily away from trouble and onto her other hip.

A month ago, a fortnight even, Athos would have curled up and died at the idea of this meeting. Now he found it ridiculously amusing and huffing with laughter, he turned to say hello to the young man who had perhaps been the catalyst in all this.

“Hello d’Artagnan. Constance has told me all about you,” he said with a tug of his lips.

“Likewise,” said the young man, his smile warm and yet a little shy around the edges. “And the newspapers have filled me in on any missing details.”

“Hopefully that’s all over and done with.” Athos raised his eyebrow at Porthos. “For now at least.”

It was a strange mix of people, all coming together under extremely odd circumstances, but somehow this only added to Athos’ enjoyment of the day. He took part in conversations, remembering his manners and being a polite host at all times, but always at the forefront of his world lay Porthos and Raoul, highlighted from the rest.

“Daddy look,” shouted Raoul who was bumping down the stairs on his rear end after having had his nappy changed by Porthos. He wriggled around, trying to make contact with the cat who was charging back upstairs now that the danger had passed. “Cat,” he said and then made a very passable meowing sound.

“Do I get to look after you now?” asked Athos, reaching for him.

“Nope,” said Porthos, seizing possession of the baby. “I’ve done the smelly part so I get to play with him as reward. You can help with the clearing up.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” said Athos, conceding the argument and doing an about turn to search the downstairs for empties.

In the living room Adele and Aramis were cosying up on the sofa whilst Constance and d’Artagnan were busy entertaining Lily, along with a group of Porthos’ siblings. Many of the other guests, however, were beginning to make a move and the house was settling down, ready for the quiet repose of the evening.

Athos carried a tray of dirty glasses back to the kitchen to find Porthos sitting at the table with Raoul on his knee, both of them demolishing a plate of party food.

“Do either of you ever stop stuffing your faces?” he laughed as he helped Guillaume stack the dishwasher.

“Would be a shame to waste it,” replied Porthos as he tucked in to slices of ham.

“We never wasted much when Porthos lived here,” said Guillaume with a wink.

Athos then broached the subject that had been on his mind for a while. “Would you mind awfully if we stayed at La Fère tonight rather than here? It’s been a lovely day, but-” 

“But you want to go home.” Annette finished the sentence for him, her hand resting on his shoulder. “Of course we wouldn’t mind, love. We’ll look after Raoul for you, if you like.”

“Thank you for the offer, but no,” said Athos. “The thing is I need to be at home with my family.” He glanced in Porthos’ direction, remembering that he too was part of the equation. Part of the decision making process. “If that’s all right?”

“Of course it’s all right,” said Porthos. “As a matter of fact, it’s bloody perfect.”

“Buddy well,” agreed Raoul, spitting bits of bread out on the plate. 

Having said goodbye to their friends and then hugged and thanked Annette and Guillaume, they left the house with a promise to return the next day. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” said Porthos as they drove away. “We need to make a start on turning your old place into somewhere that’s ours.”

“A second home at least,” said Athos, taking the turn off for La Fere. “If you’re in agreement, I was thinking we could sell the apartment building and buy a house in a nicer part of Paris.”

Porthos fell silent for a while. 

“If you’re worried about the flat,” said Athos.

Porthos frowned at him and then poked him in the rib cage for added emphasis. “Of course I’m blo- Of course I’m not, you pillock.” There was another long pause. “But that place is our history,” he explained. “I used to hang around my door and wait for you to come out.” He barked out a laugh. “God, that makes me sound really pathetic. Pretend I never told you.”

“I’m hardly likely to forget it,” said Athos with a grin.

“Don’t you dare use it against me,” warned Porthos.

“Only if it becomes absolutely necessary,” said Athos and then he brushed his fingers across the back of Porthos’ neck. “Seriously though, Porthos, we don’t need to hang on to historical artefacts when we have all the memories we could ever need. Let’s have a fresh start.”

“You’re-” said Porthos, but Athos was never going to find out the end of that sentence because Raoul interrupted things with a snore.

“Oh no you don’t, sunshine,” he said, leaning behind him to cajole the baby awake.

“Why?” yawned Raoul. It was one of his favourite new words and Athos had a feeling it would be driving them to distraction very soon 

“Because Papa and I need you to be a sleepy boy tonight. No napping allowed this close to bedtime.”

“Why?”

“I like it being this close to bedtime,” growled Porthos. “Stroke my neck again. That was nice.”

The chateau was dark, but it had a welcoming feel to it now that had never existed before. Porthos’ gentle giant heart and Raoul’s cheeky nature had already made an impression on the gloomy atmosphere and once the lights were lit and the baby was tucked up in his travel cot it became even more of a home.

Athos sank down onto the settee enjoying the peace. “Shall I light the fire in here?” he asked.

Porthos shook his head. “Let’s grab a bottle of wine and go make the bed in our new room.”

Athos followed him up the stairs, for once not feeling the eyes of his father and grandfather upon him as they frowned disapprovingly downwards. What he had now was something that neither of his predecessors had achieved in their respective lifetimes.

Unable to even consider moving the ancient four-poster, they’d opted instead to have the new bed set up in the room on the other side of Raoul. It was bigger than it had seemed in the antiques centre, a gargantuan frame, carved and old but in rustic style rather than regal.

“I think an entire family must have slept in this,” said Athos, hoping that the mattress they’d bought would fit. It did to a certain extent.

“More like the whole bloody village.” Porthos finished tucking the sheet over the corners on his side and then threw himself backwards with a sigh. “Heaven,” he said. “Come here and give me a kiss.”

“We haven’t done the duvet and pillows yet,” said Athos.

“Gonna do you first,” said Porthos, his voice thick with desire. “Get naked for me, darling.” Hooking his hands behind his head he watched as Athos stripped off, already hard by the time he was undressed, fingers straying downwards to touch himself. “Gorgeous,” he breathed in appreciation. “Now come here.”

“Maybe I just want to do this all night,’ teased Athos stroking himself off, legs apart, knees bent as he pushed into his fist. Sex was something in which he did have confidence. Porthos wanted him. Porthos _loved_ him and there’d never again be any embarrassing encounters with strangers on the landing at first light. No more paranoid mornings of self doubt and misery.

“If you don’t get over here right now then I’ll have to come and get you.” Porthos grinned at him. “And there’ll be trouble.”

“Will it be big trouble?” said Athos with a smirk.

“Let me show you,” said Porthos, unbuttoning his flies and hooking his hard on out of the opening of his boxers.

This teasing war of words was fun, but the urge to be a part of Porthos was too strong and Athos clambered on and sat astride, slicking him up and sliding down onto him. 

“Oh.” The cry from both men was simultaneous.

Without prep, Porthos was filling every inch of him and slowly Athos began to glide up and down,fucking himself on that big thick shaft, his own cock stiff in his hand.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” warned Porthos.

Athos laughed. “Not the amount of times we do this,” he said, letting go before the urge to bring himself off grew too overwhelming.

Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to Porthos, licking at his lips, nipping at them then pushing his tongue inside. Porthos sucked at him, kissing him to the beat of the sex, the headboard thumping rhythmically against the wall.

“We’ll have to do something about that,” chuckled Porthos.

Athos grabbed a pillow and shoved it between both to act as a silencer. “Better?” he asked. “Now can you concentrate?”

“Soon,” said Porthos. “Once I get my pants off and they stop strangling my balls.”

It was too much and Athos descended into laughter, climbing off and pulling the quilt around him whilst Porthos undressed. “Give me a nudge when you’re ready for me,” he said, checking for baby snuffles on the monitor then switching off the bedside light and rolling onto his side.

The nudge, when it came, was thick, lubed, and hot. A hand clamped around Athos’ leg, lifting it enough for them to make intimate contact with each other, and then with one solid thrust Porthos was in him, spooned tight against him, an arm locking them together.

“This is beautiful,” came that gruff voice. “Love you so much, Athos. Love being with you.”

Athos melded into him, melting at his words. It was a strange experience fucking in this blackout darkness, slow and dream like, Porthos taking him with undulating rolls of the hips that had him pushing back and gasping for more, his cock aching, full to bursting. 

“Don’t,” he pleaded when Porthos went to touch him. “I’ll come and I don’t want to just yet.”

Instead Porthos painted his shoulders with kisses and stroked every inch of his skin, keeping him floating on the edge of climax for what seemed like hours. 

“God,” he moaned when he could feel Porthos thickening inside him, his movements still fluid but faster now, his body involuntarily seeking out that goal.

They twisted in the bed until Athos was on his belly, cock rubbing against the sheets. He used to come like this when he was a boy, jerking his body, blushing face hidden in the pillows, his mind full of questions as undiscovered shadows lurked at the edge of his conscious. Now he had Porthos here with him, needing him, marking him with kisses.

“I love you,” Porthos breathed. “Love you always. Please. Oh. Oh my god, I can’t.”

“Love you too.” Athos came from that first flood of heat inside him, face buried, words muffled as he emptied himself onto the sheets. “So much.”

Turning just enough to be comfortable they slept like this, still messy, still joined. No cover on the duvet, no slips on the pillows, too happy to give a damn.


	35. Epilogue

The auditorium was almost full and sitting here looking around him Athos was amazed and truthfully a little petrified at the thought of how many people were actually here.

“Daddy look,” said Raoul pointing at the stage. “Trees.”

“Yes, mon petit, but when it goes dark you have to be very quiet.”

“Why?”

“Because Papa needs you to be quiet.”

“Why?” 

Athos resisted the urge for a _because I said so_. “Can you do that for me?”

Raoul twisted around to look at him. “No,” he said with utter sincerity. It was another new favourite.

Athos sighed as he gazed at the packed rows of seating. Porthos had sworn that the matinees were much quieter than the evening performances, but this was clearly a false promise just to get him to bring their son along to the theatre.

The lights began to dim and as the muted chatter diminished to just a few mutterings Athos hugged Raoul to him. He’d seen Porthos on stage dozens of times now and there was always a fluttering of nerves but never this many. The fear today was a rational one because Raoul loved to perform every bit as much as his papa did. Using the entire range of cognitive behaviour tricks his therapist had taught him, Athos tried to keep a grip on things, but was swiftly beginning to wish he’d brought along his bottle of Prozac as a halftime snack for the interval.

“Paaaaa,” yelled Raoul the moment Porthos appeared on stage, waving frantically at him in order to get his attention. “Paaaa here.”

“Quiet please, Raoul,” breathed Athos, reaching instinctively for the pack of chocolate buttons that were secreted away inside his coat pocket, ready for emergencies.

“Sush,” said Raoul and then thankfully rested back in Athos’ arms to watch Porthos who winked at them and then strode across the platform, reciting his first set of lines with Athos mouthing along to every single word.

This was Porthos' major breakthrough as far as the stage was concerned, a lead role in a West End performance of a new play that had received such good reviews when it was performed out of town that it had been moved up from the suburbs. He was also slowly but surely making his name on the other side of the Atlantic, those thuggish parts a thing of the past now that his personality and talent had been allowed to shine through.

Raoul’s whinge time commenced at the beginning of the second act and after giving up on trying to settle him inside the auditorium Athos took him out, rocking him in his pushchair until he fell asleep.

“Porthos is so excited that you finally brought the baby along,” said a passing stagehand as he squeezed by them carrying a case of bottled water from the bar. “He hasn’t stopped talking about it for days.”

“I’m not certain the rest of the cast would agree with him,” said Athos with a smirk.

“You’d be surprised,” replied the young man. “Come backstage afterwards. They all want to meet you.”

“Raoul more than me, I should imagine,” said Athos.

The stagehand shrugged and grinned.

Returning to the auditorium, Athos was quietly directed into one of the empty boxes where he could leave Raoul asleep in his pushchair and enjoy the second half of the play in peace. He could see Porthos looking around in concern and that beaming smile, once he’d spotted them in their new vantage point, was a thing of sheer beauty.

The baby woke a few minutes before the final scene and Athos lifted him out of the pushchair and into his arms so that he could see what was going on, choosing to remain where he was in the box. This was a nice out of the way area and he didn’t have to worry about disturbing the older members of the audience who had been seated either side of him in the stalls.

As the cast took their bows to several long lasting rounds of applause, Raoul was overjoyed to discover that it was finally time to make a noise. He joined in with the clapping for a while, but then squirmed around to look at Athos, saying loudly and plaintively just as everything had quietened down: “Want wee-wee, Daddy.” This received its own spontaneous laughter and applause from everyone in both audience and cast.

“Come on, trouble,” said Athos, red faced as usual as he carried Raoul to the nearest gents and sat him on the toilet.

“Did you like seeing Papa on stage?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Raoul and then frowned in concentration. “Wee.”

He clearly didn’t want to be interrupted in mid flow.

Afterwards, hands washed and chocolate wiped away from around that pudgy little mouth, Athos carried Raoul up the flight of stairs that led backstage and was immediately pounced on by a very loving partner who was offering up one of his warm and bear like hugs.

“Never again.”

Porthos took hold of their son, smothering his face in kisses and then shook his head in response to Athos’ words. “He’s coming every night from now onwards,” he said. “Aren’t you, my little show stopper?”

The baby was too busy smiling winningly at everyone around him to answer this and in no time at all he had been purloined and was doing the rounds of the entire cast, tech crew and creative team.

“Seriously,” said Porthos, taking advantage of the one on one situation and hooking his arms around Athos’ neck. “I couldn’t do any of this without you and Raoul. You’re my inspiration.”

Partially hidden by the shadows, Athos checked from side to side to see how private this nook of theirs actually was. Private enough was the answer. Smiling at Porthos he leaned in, inclining his head to steal a much needed kiss which turned out to be soft and slow and very precious indeed. 

There were still the bad days, when everything got too much and he had to hide in the bedroom just to quiet the panic, but they were growing fewer and farther between. Most of the time he was so deliriously happy that he had to pinch himself to prove that all this was real. He'd been adrift for years, never quite certain where he belonged in the world, but then Porthos had come along, anchoring him and setting him free at the same time.

“You like being part of a big family,” he said once the kiss had ended. 

‘I do,” agreed Porthos. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Athos shrugged. “It depends really,” he said with an upward tug of the lips. “I might be smart, but I’m certainly no mind reader.”

“Well how about this for a start?” said Porthos. “We could spend the next few months finding out the pros and cons of having a gayby brother or sister for Raoul.”

Athos shrugged again. “Or we could put ourselves forward as foster parents.” He’d never forgotten the story of Porthos arriving at his new home, shy and unloved yet with so much to give if anyone could be bothered enough to look. Annette and Guillaume had bothered and because of it they had changed Porthos’ life and he theirs.

“You’re a beautiful man inside and out,” said Porthos, his eyes suspiciously bright. “You sure you’d rather do this than be a lawyer?”

“Much rather,” said Athos honestly.

“Then I got your back,” said Porthos. “Always.”

 

\---end


End file.
